Double, Double
by meri.MKfan
Summary: When Kitty returns from a trip, she just doesn't seem like herself... co-written with mmtaeldra
1. Chapter 1

**Double, Double…**

**By mmtaeldra & meri_mkfan**

_Standard disclaimers apply – we're just playing in the sandbox and promise to put everything away neatly when we're done – no profit is expected or intended. The characters do not belong to us._

_Setting: This story takes place near the end of the B/W  
hour-long episodes, when Quint was part of the GS family._

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Dodge City, KS ~ an early November evening**_

"Welcome home, Miss Kitty," Sam the bartender said. "We weren't expecting you back so soon."

"Thanks. Take my bags up to my room." The redhead glanced around the barroom. It seemed busy enough for a late afternoon.

Sam's eyebrows climbed a bit, but after signaling one of the girls to take over, he obediently came around the bar and picked up the three bags the porter from the depot had dropped inside the door. She followed him up the stairs and through the curtain. When he stopped outside the third door, she said, "what are you waiting for?"

"I need your key, Miss Kitty."

"Oh." She fumbled in the reticule and came up with an old-fashioned key. Sam looked at her.

"That's the one for the storage room in the basement, Miss Kitty."

"Don't know what I was thinking," she said, reaching inside again, and this time producing a smaller, shinier key.

Sam looked at her a little strangely, but unlocked the door and carried her valises inside. "Do you want me to bring up water so you can have a hot bath, Miss Kitty?"

"No. I'll just get washed up and changed and then go eat. Do you expect a crowd tonight?"

He shrugged. "Well, it is the Cattleman's Association monthly meeting."

"Ah yes." She went into the room and closed the door firmly.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Meanwhile, in Great Bend, KS...**_

"Listen to me, you idiot, for the hundredth time, I don't know any 'Micheline Busson', and I've never been to the Lucky Lady Saloon in Ellsworth, so I certainly couldn't have swindled or shot anybody there! My name is Kitty Russell, and I'm from Dodge City, which is where I was headed until I made the mistake of stopping overnight in this flea-bitten excuse for a town!"

Kitty pushed against the bars of the cell, and then flung her arms in the air in a gesture of pure frustration. "I should have been on the 9 o'clock stage, but instead I've got a giant knot on my head, my luggage has been stolen, and I've been locked up in this... this... place, to answer for the crimes of some woman I've never heard of!"

To Kitty's immense disgust, her tirade seemed to have no effect on Sheriff Dan Liebling, who continued to slouch against the wall, sucking on a piece of straw.

Gritting her teeth, Kitty forced herself to speak calmly. "Sheriff Liebling, surely it wouldn't be too much to ask for you to send a wire to the U.S. Marshal in Dodge City? He's a friend of mine, and he can confirm that I live in Dodge, and that I've been on a trip, from which I was due back this afternoon. I'm sure my friends in Dodge are worried about me by now."

The sheriff sighed and shifted to a standing position. "If I say I'll do it, will you shut up and let me eat my supper in peace?"

Kitty hastened to assure him she would, and was mollified when he left, saying he'd send the wire and pick them up some food at "Ma's," which Kitty guessed was a local eatery.

Once he'd left, she sat down on the cot – the small cell's only furniture besides a chamber pot – and tried to gather her thoughts. Her first realization was that even if the sheriff sent the wire tonight, he might well not get an answer before morning, which meant she'd be spending the night in jail. She sighed. All she needed to make the experience complete was bedbugs left behind by some drunken fur trapper.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Dodge City, KS ~ the same evening**_

Micheline leaned back against the door and looked over her new quarters. She'd fallen into a bed of clover, by the opulent look of the furnishings. Slipping into Kitty Russell's life wasn't as easy as she had thought it would be, but the barman had certainly accepted her. She gave a sly little smirk of triumph. Time to make sure she looked the part.

She strolled over to the wardrobe and pulled the door open. "Well, now, look at all these dresses. Let's see if there's something in here that will look good on me." She pawed through Kitty's clothing, finally reaching for a black dress with red inserts, sequins, and a very low-cut neckline. Kitty had worn it once before deciding that it was a mistake, but Micheline was very pleased with its effect. She twirled twice in front of the mirror, looked through Kitty's jewelry box to find an onyx choker and earrings and nodded decisively. Time for dinner.

She sashayed down the steps, nodded to Sam, and headed for the restaurant she'd spied from her window. When she walked in the door, several of the occupants nodded at her, and two men seated halfway across the room waved her over. "Welcome home, Miss Kitty. You shore is a sight fer my old eyeballs. Did'ya get a new dress in St. Louie?"

"Festus, don't plague her about her shopping. You look very nice, Kitty." Despite his comment, Doc was privately a little shocked at the low cut of her neckline. It had been a long time since Kitty had worn a dress that so blatantly displayed her charms. He was kind of glad that Matt was still out of town.

"Awwww, ya old scudder, don't pay him no nevermind, Miss Kitty. You know what ol' Doc here is like. Always argufyin'."

"How was the wedding, Kitty?" Doc said, trying to change the subject.

"The bride was beautiful, the groom was handsome, and it was a gorgeous day. It was a wedding. What else can I tell you?"

Doc and Festus exchanged glances. Under normal circumstances Kitty would have spent the better part of the evening telling them all about the wedding, starting with her journey to St. Louis and continuing with the entire guest list.

Kitty ate rapidly and then said nonchalantly, "Well, I better get back to the saloon," smiled at both of them and walked out, leaving her dinner check behind.

Festus studied the door through which she'd just gone. "Well, I'll be pure dee double dipped. What's wrong with Miss Kitty, Doc?"

As usual, Doc thought, Festus had gone right to the nub of it. "When does Matt get back, Festus?"

"He was hoping to be back before Miss Kitty got in from St. Louie. I figger some time tomorry."

"Maybe she was just out of sorts from her trip. Once Matt gets back she'll be more herself. I'm sure this was just – just an aberration."

"Whut's a beration?"

"Oh, never mind. Come on, let's go down to the Long Branch and get a beer."

But their visit to the Long Branch was far from reassuring. For one thing, Kitty spent the night, not sitting with them as was her custom, but prowling through her customers, paying particular attention to the most prosperous-looking ones. When the wealthy rancher Tom Ford got drunk and began groping her, she casually removed his hand, but otherwise appeared to encourage him.

Later, when the drunken cattleman blatantly propositioned her, Doc was sure the alarmed looks on Festus' and Sam's faces were a mirror of his own. When Kitty happened to glance up and catch his eye, he was darned if he could say what it was he saw cross her face. Annoyance? Regret? Whatever it was, it was gone in a moment. As he watched, she shook her head at the besotted man, removed his roaming hand from her derriere, and strolled back to the bar.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Great Bend, KS ~ the same evening**_

Banging noises in the front of the jail signaled the return of the sheriff. Shortly he appeared holding a tray covered by a red-and-white checked cloth, which he slid through the horizontal gap in the cell bars designed for just such a purpose. Kitty thanked him as civilly as she could. When he seemed about to leave without commenting on her telegram request, she spoke up. "Did you...?"

He cut her off gruffly. "Yes! I sent the blamed telegram! Now shut up and eat yer dinner, and leave me to mine!"

The food was simple, but edible. Kitty quickly realized that she was famished,

having had nothing to eat since the night before. Soon after she finished, Sheriff Liebling reappeared to take her tray. "I'm off to do my evening rounds, so you sit tight and don't cause no ruckus like you did earlier, or I might just forget to check for a reply to my telegram!"

Kitty nodded silently and sat back down. There was no way she'd give him an excuse not to read Matt's reply if she could help it. Maybe Matt was on his way to her even now. The thought warmed her. Holding his image in her mind, she leaned back against the brick wall and let herself fall into a light doze.

The sound of stomping boots and jingling keys woke her from her evening siesta. Her breath caught – would he have received an answer by now? She tried not to get her hopes up, reminding herself that there were all sorts of reasons why there might not be a reply yet. As the door to the cell area swung open, she could feel her heart rate rising.

Sheriff Liebling stepped inside. He was holding a telegram. She couldn't stop herself. "What does it say?"

He fixed her with an unfriendly stare. Holding up the paper, he read slowly, "Sheriff Dan Liebling, Great Bend, Kansas: Kitty Russell arrived Dodge this afternoon. STOP No federal warrants on your prisoner. STOP Dillon, US Marshal."

He looked up. "So, Miss Busson, I suggest you make yourself comfortable. The Circuit Judge will be through next week, and you can plead your case to him then, if you're of a mind." Folding up the paper, he turned and stalked out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Kitty could only stare after him in shock.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Great Bend, KS ~ the next morning**_

Kitty was walking down Front Street. The day was pleasant, but something wasn't right. She realized the buildings were wrong. How could Front Street have changed? As she greeted passersby, they smiled and said hello, but they didn't seem to know her. Then a man was blocking her path. He was wearing a badge, but it wasn't Matt. He grabbed her by the arm. "Come with me, miss." She objected, but he ignored her and headed toward the jail. She relented, figuring Matt would fix things. But when they stepped inside, it wasn't Matt's jail. And there was no Matt to fix things. Just a small, dirty jail cell.

The lawman clanged the door shut, then banged on it again and spoke loudly. "Wake up, time for breakfast!" The smell of ham and biscuits woke Kitty from her strange dream. Opening her eyes, she remembered. She was not in Dodge. She was stuck in Great Bend, in jail, and the man sliding a tray through the bars thought she was somebody she'd never heard of.

Wearily she pushed herself up and accepted the tray. She didn't feel much like eating so early in the day, but she forced herself to nibble at the biscuit, and the coffee was definitely welcome. Finally Liebling reappeared to take the tray.

"Okay, missy, you just set tight and keep quiet. I've got a busy day and you won't like what happens if you try to make it busier. My deputy'll be by with your lunch later, and I'll be back to tuck you in tonight." He chuckled at his own weak joke, and started to turn away.

Suddenly realizing that she would be stuck in her cell all day with absolutely nothing to do to pass the time, Kitty quickly spoke up. "Sheriff, is there a newspaper around here that I could borrow, or perhaps a spare deck of cards, so I could at least play solitaire?"

Liebling's stare was not friendly. "Listen, Miss Busson –

"I know you don't believe me, but I'm Kitty Russell."

Liebling glared. "Let's not have any more of that foolishness. Can't believe I let you talk me into pestering a US Marshal. Shoulda known not to trust a female, especially a looksome one."

"Regardless of who you think I am, until this mess gets straightened out, it looks like I'm going to be stuck here with nothing to do. I'm just asking to borrow a newspaper or a deck of cards so I can pass the time. I swear I won't be any trouble."

The suspicious squint on his grizzled face told her he was wondering if it was a trick of some kind. She held her breath.

Finally, apparently unable to think of a reason not to, he stalked into the outer room, returning with a battered deck of cards. Kitty stood and reached for them, wanting to take possession before he could change his mind. She gave him her brightest smile, but he seemed impervious, mumbling "Females..." under his breath as he left.

Kitty occupied herself for the next hour playing solitaire and practicing her trick dealing. Even though she'd kept her promise to Matt not to deal at the Long Branch – well, mostly kept it, except in emergency situations – she felt it was only wise to keep such a useful skill well-honed. She had just executed a really pretty hand of 5-card stud – just enough interesting cards to keep everyone bidding, but the best hand for herself – when she heard the outside door of the jail opening and a pair of boots heading her way. Quickly she gathered up the cards and slipped the deck under the blanket, then stood to greet her visitor.

When the door to the cell area swung open, she was surprised to see it was neither Liebling nor his Deputy. The stranger standing in the doorway scowling at her was tall and wiry, with dark looks that spoke of some Indian heritage. His clothes marked him as a town dweller rather than a cowboy or farmer, but he didn't look entirely civilized, for all that. He closed the door behind him and just stood there staring at her, like she was the answer to a puzzle he couldn't quite make out.

Growing tired of the silent scrutiny, Kitty decided to break the ice. "Hello. If you are looking for the sheriff, I believe he just stepped out for a minute." She kept her tone neutral and businesslike, but not unfriendly.

The man's dark eyes somehow darkened more. When he spoke, his voice was rough and tinged with anger. "Not looking for the sheriff. Came to look at you. Heard they had m'brother's killer locked up here, so I rode down to see with my own eyes. They said you was a fancy woman, 'sides being a crook and a killer. Looks like they spoke true." His angular face creased in a sneer. "Didja at least give poor old Lem a good ride or two 'fore ya kilt him, bitch?"

Kitty drew in a sharp breath. She had long ago learned to tell men who were bluffing from men who meant business, and this one reeked of real danger. He wanted vengeance, and he wanted to hurt her. Or rather, hurt Micheline, but at the moment it was a distinction without a difference. She briefly pondered telling him she wasn't who he thought, but immediately knew he wouldn't believe her. It might even make him angrier. So she stood and stared back at him, saying nothing.

"What's wrong, bitch? Think yer too good to answer me, do ya?" He took a menacing step forward. Kitty somehow managed to hold her ground, though it took all her willpower. She knew she was far enough back in the cell to escape if he tried to grab her through the bars, and to show fear just emboldened a bully.

The stranger took another step toward her. His scowl grew deeper, his dark eyes glittering with fury. "Maybe you need a bit of schoolin' on how to treat yer betters, eh, bitch? And maybe I'm the man to give it to ya." He was right in front of the bars now. A sneering smile creased his face. "Sheriff ain't here, but I'm pretty sure I saw the keys hangin' just outside there. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I just borrowed 'em for a minute so's we can get better acquainted. Especially seein' as how I'm a fellow lawman." Kitty couldn't help but shudder slightly as he ogled her openly. As soon as he turned away and opened the door to the front of the jail, she looked around wildly for anything she could use to defend herself against the attack she knew was only moments away.

The man reappeared, the jail cell keys dangling from his hand. Kitty saw murder in his eyes, and she was afraid. He smiled in triumph and walked to the cell door. Just as he was about to insert the key into the cell door lock, Kitty heard the sound of another door opening. Praying it was help and not more trouble, Kitty called out. "Sheriff? Is that you? I need help!"

Her would-be attacker swore and turned to see who'd interrupted his plan. Kitty almost fainted in relief at the sight of the sheriff. Liebling was clearly not amused as he saw the cell keys in the visitor's hand. "What do you think yer doing? You gonna let my prisoner go, were ya?" He looked over at her and then back at the man, and Kitty saw him figure it out. "I know you - you're Lem's brother Cage - look just like him. Bet you figured you'd help yourself to my jail cell and settle the score personal, instead of waitin' for a trial. That's it, ain't it?"

Cage scowled. "She killed my brother! I gotta right to settle the score. And I'm the law in Ellsworth."

"First off, this ain't Ellsworth. Second, last time I checked a Mr. Nelson P. Cathcart was sheriff there, and you was just a deputy. I know I'm new in these parts, but I don't think things change that quick around here. And no matter who y'are, I don't hold with this kind of thing. Not in my jail. Now hand over those keys and get outta here before I throw you in the other cell!"

Cage cast a final murderous look her way. "This ain't over, bitch. You're gonna pay for what you did to Lem." He turned and stalked out, pushing the keys into Leibling's outstretched hand as he passed him.

Kitty sat down on her cot, her legs suddenly unable to hold her. "Thank you, Sheriff. I think you just saved my life."

Liebling turned to look at her. She thought his expression might have softened just a bit. "I'm heartily sorry, ma'am. I had no idea he was in town. I intend to deliver you to Ellsworth to face justice, but I don't hold with that sorta thing. Not one bit."

Kitty sighed, feeling some of the tension leave her body. She looked up at Liebling and smiled in genuine thanks. "Well, Sheriff, if I somehow manage to survive this and get home to Dodge, there's a bottle of my finest whiskey waiting for you any time. If I'm not there, just tell Sam that Kitty Russell said to give you a bottle from the green shelf."

A look of uncertainty flashed across Liebling's face, replaced by irritation. Kitty shook her head slightly. For a moment, she'd forgotten. Liebling thought she was someone named Micheline Busson. "I'm sorry, Sheriff. I forgot that you don't believe me. I don't suppose I'd believe me either, in your position." She managed a small, wry smile. "Thank you anyway. I'm quite sure that man intended to hurt me, and I'm not sure he'd have stopped there." Kitty could imagine the scene when her Dodge 'family' discovered her fate. "If I do hang for this woman's crimes, I know Matt will blame himself." She felt a tear well up, and brushed it away. "At least he won't have to bear the burden of what that man wanted to do."

Refocusing on the sheriff's face, Kitty was surprised at the emotions she saw there. The uncertainty was back, along with - sympathy?

Liebling looked away, as if conscious he was revealing more than he wanted her to know. He cleared his throat and straightened. "Like I said, I'm sorry for the scare you had. I'll be back later with your lunch. Gotta do rounds." With that he turned and left.

Kitty slumped back on the cot, drained. That had been much too close. She really did need to find a way out, and soon. She didn't doubt Liebling's intention to protect her, but she also didn't see Cage Prescott abandoning his plans for revenge, either. Sighing, she retrieved the deck of cards she'd hidden under her blanket and started dealing a game of solitaire, trying to focus her mind on something simple and safe.

She quickly realized that playing solitaire wasn't helping. It just reminded her that she should be sitting in the Long Branch right now, drinking her own coffee and counting the take from the previous night. If Doc wasn't off somewhere delivering a baby, she could look forward to a morning chat with her dearest friend, who much preferred her coffee to the bitter brew Festus boiled up. And if things were quiet, Matt might stop in for a mid-morning cup himself. She smiled to herself at the memory of his cheery greeting. 'Good morning, Kitty!' he'd announce, his tone intended to convey to anyone listening that it was the first he'd seen of her, though in truth he'd usually left her side just hours before.

Thinking of Matt brought tears to her eyes. Her heart ached with missing him after so many weeks apart. She should have been home last night, should have fallen asleep in his arms, warm and safe and sated, and been awakened by his kiss in the soft early light of dawn.

Instead, she was trapped in a cold, dirty cell, held captive by a man who thought she was someone else, while somehow Matt thought she had arrived safely in Dodge. None of it made any sense. Feeling suddenly tired, Kitty gave up the idea of cards and stretched out on her cot. Maybe if she could sleep for a little while, it would make the day go faster. Maybe she would dream of Matt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Previously:**

_Thinking of Matt brought tears to her eyes. Her heart ached with missing him after so many weeks apart. She should have been home last night, should have fallen asleep in his arms, warm and safe and sated, and been awakened by his kiss in the soft early light of dawn. _

_Instead, she was trapped in a cold, dirty cell, held captive by a man who thought she was someone else, while somehow Matt thought she had arrived safely in Dodge. None of it made any sense. Feeling suddenly tired, Kitty gave up the idea of cards and stretched out on her cot. Maybe if she could sleep for a little while, it would make the day go faster. Maybe she would dream of Matt_.

_**Dodge City, KS ~ that evening**_

It was nearing dusk when Matt Dillon mounted the rise that overlooked Dodge City. Already lamps were being lit in houses on the outskirts of town, and the first of the street lights were blinking on as Lenny Carstairs, the lamplighter, wended his way through the streets of Dodge. Most particularly Matt focused on that portion of Front St. where the saloons and the stores were located. It was too far, but still he fancied he could see the individual lights that marked the Long Branch Saloon. In his mind's eye, he could see the interior, the long bar, the big mirror, the walls Kitty insisted be painted every year, the rowdy cowboys and the young saloon girls who entertained them, and Kitty. Kitty, presiding over it all. Calm, sometimes indulgent, always shrewd, always beautiful, always… He sighed. Best he get down to Dodge rather than sitting up here close to Boot Hill, mooning over a woman who he hoped had gotten home from St. Louis. She'd laugh at him if she knew what he was up to, and chide him for staying out here in the chill early November air when he could be warm and safe inside the Long Branch.

Inside the Long Branch, Quint and Doc shared a table at the back. They also shared a look of disapproval when Tom Ford, apparently encouraged by her friendliness the night before, pulled Kitty down onto his lap 'to bring him luck.' She laughed and slung an arm around his neck. When he extracted a twenty dollar bill from the pot and tucked it in her cleavage she laughed again and said, "Better win that pot, Tom, before you go giving it away!" But she made no attempt to extract and return the money.

"What's got into Miss Kitty tonight?" Quint asked, studying the scene.

"Dunno, but I hope she gets it out of her system before Matt gets back," Doc said, rubbing his knuckle into his mustache and frowning.

After the hand was finished, Kitty left the poker players and wandered back to their table. "You boys look a little dry, here," she said. "Sam, Sam, bring these fellows a drink. Where's Festus tonight?" she added, sitting down beside Quint.

"Straightening up the jail. He expects Matt tonight. Said he wants everything 'just as slick as a new-born colt' for when he gets back."

"Where does he get 'em from?" She laughed, but the mirth never reached her eyes, and when Sam brought over their beers, she added, "Five cents apiece, boys, you know the price of beer."

Quint produced a dime and was about to flip it to Sam when Festus appeared in the doorway. Without a word, Doc added a nickel and nodded toward the hill man. Sam nodded his head and returned to the bar.

"Well, boys, I better get out there and circulate. Amazing how cowboys forget to drink unless someone mentions it." She smiled at them again and headed back to the front of the room.

"Doc – does Miss Kitty seem…" Quint began, but Festus plunked his beer down and

followed it by easing his rangy body into the remaining chair at the table. "Sam said you bought me this here beer, Doc. Want you to know I'm grateful. I'll pay you back when Matthew pays me. 'Course, Miss Kitty used to run me a tab, but here lately she wants money on the barrelhead. Ever since she got back from St. Louie, I jest ain't been able to figger her out. It's a puzzle, fer sure."

"You've got that right, Festus." Quint stood and stretched. "I'm headed to bed. See ya in the morning." Across the room, Micheline's eyes followed his moves, a lascivious smile curling across her lips as she watched the brawny blacksmith's muscles flex.

"Tcha," Doc muttered, and Festus frowned at his friend.

Perhaps half an hour later, Ford had pulled Kitty onto his lap again, but he was drunker, and his gropings were more purposeful. "Hey," she protested, pushing his hand away from her breast for the third time. "I told you not to do that."

Abruptly, a large hand closed over hers, jerking her to her feet, and another seized the cattleman's shirt, hauling him to his feet where he stood swaying drunkenly, and staring at the fifth button on a man's faded red shirt – the one right across from the marshal's badge. "Hey," he protested. "What'd you do that for?" He burped. "No skin off'n your nose where I put my hands."

"The **lady** asked you to stop. You should have stuck to your poker game. Take your game elsewhere, and from now on, leave the lady alone." Dillon loomed over the shorter man, his expression unyielding.

One of the other players rose and pulled on Ford's arm. "C'mon, Tom. Let's go over to the Lady Gay. The marshal's sayin' she's off limits. I tolt you that's how it was with them, but you wouldn't listen. Now let's go before there's trouble."

Still grumbling, Tom allowed himself to be hustled out of the Long Branch. Matt turned and smiled down at her. "Sorry, Kitty. I think he'll leave you alone now." He slid a big hand around to rest on the small of her back. "Let's go over and sit with Doc and Festus. I sure could use a beer."

Micheline smiled up at him and let him guide her toward their table, thinking frantically. She'd heard Tom's friend mutter that he'd told him 'how it was with them', and the way Dillon was acting, she strongly suspected he did indeed have a personal claim. She let her eyes slide up and down his tall, muscular frame. She had to hand it to Kitty Russell. Not only did she run a prosperous business, on her own, but apparently she had this big stud warming her bed. Yes indeed, no hardship at all if she had to continue whatever 'arrangement' Kitty had made with the law in Dodge. In fact, as she looked up into his face and saw the flash of raw desire in his eyes, she thought it might be a real bonus to this already promising game.

Of course, there were drawbacks. With Matt there, she was stuck talking to Doc and Festus, and had to leave working the barroom to the girls. Mentally she could see the profits from the night sinking for every minute she had to spend with the trio of men. But it was the price of safety and she had to consider that as well. Apparently this was what Kitty Russell did night after night. Micheline wondered how she avoided screaming with boredom.

Finally Festus stood and announced that he'd be moseying on his way. Micheline laughed, and Matt turned to her sharply. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing. You just didn't sound like yourself. That's all."

"Say, Matt," she began, drawing her finger down his arm. "Will I be seeing you later? It's been so long since I've had you all to myself..."

Matt's face turned puce and he began to cough. "K-Kitty," he exclaimed. "What a thing to ask me – and Doc sitting right here," he finally managed to gasp out.

"Doc's a big boy. I'm sure he…"

"Time for me to be hitting the hay," Doc announced abruptly, standing. His own color was rather high, and he felt pity for Matt.

"What the hell's got into you, Kitty?" Matt muttered, pulling his arm away from her fingers. "We're out in public."

"Ma-att," she pouted, but the big lawman was already on his feet.

"I'll talk to you later," he ground out. "When you've come to your senses."

She watched him stalk out, wondering what had gotten into him. Ah well. She'd seen how much he wanted her. He'd be back. A little smile played around her lips. And in the meantime, the rest of the evening was hers to enjoy...

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Dodge City, KS ~ the next morning**_

"Mornin, Matt." Micheline smiled at the marshal as she stood at his table in Delmonico's. "Mind if I join you?" He rose and pulled out her chair, then resumed his seat.

She batted her eyes at him and pouted. "I was all lonely last night without you..."

"Kitty!" he growled. "What's gotten into you? You know I don't want to discuss…" his voice dropped half an octave, "…us…" his voice lowered even further, "in public. You're not actin' like yourself, Kitty. You haven't ever since you got back from St. Louis. Did something happen there?"

Micheline recoiled slightly. The last thing she wanted to do was to arouse any suspicions about herself – especially with this tall lawman. "Matt, I'm sorry," she said gently, starting to reach for his hand as it lay on the table, and then quickly withdrawing her hand when he glared at her. "The last thing I want to do is upset you. I was just teasing you – just – uhh, pulling your leg. Sometimes you're so awful serious." She smiled at him again. "Where are Doc and Festus? I thought they'd be here for breakfast by now."

Matt relaxed a little, and Micheline slumped in relief. It appeared he was used to Kitty teasing him, and was willing to forgive if it got out of hand sometimes. He took a large bite of scrambled egg and mumbled through it, "Festus rode out early to do some fishin' and Doc's gone off to deliver the Johanssen baby. He was sure mad when I told him Festus had gone fishing. Called him a mangy mountain polecat." He chuckled and she did too, though she was a little puzzled by the relationship between the scroungy looking hill man and the elderly physician.

The waiter appeared and Kitty ordered tea and toast.

"Not hungry?"

"Not this morning," she said, her voice soft and subdued. She had a fierce headache, a remnant of last night's drinks, and didn't really want to explain her hangover to Dillon.

"You not feeling good?" Matt's voice softened too. "Maybe you caught something while you were away. When Doc gets back, he could see if you're getting sick."

"Maybe I'm a little – under the weather – but that's all," Micheline said hastily. The last thing she needed was to have that old busybody, Doc, buzzing around her. "Don't bother Doc, Matt. He looked tired last night, and I don't want to worry him."

"If you don't feel good…"

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Leave me alone, why can't you?" She tried not to let her annoyance show, but she was shorter with him than she intended. At that point the waiter appeared with her tea and toast and both of them sat in silence, eating, for the next five minutes.

At last Micheline looked over at him, knowing she needed to smooth things over somehow. "I'm sorry, Matt. I didn't mean to snap. And I guess I owe you an apology for last night too. I know you're sensitive about folks seeing us together, and I shouldn't have teased you. It wasn't funny and I guess you got embarrassed. I didn't mean to do that."

"Kitty, it has nothing to do with my being embarrassed. It's for your own safety. I don't want some killer or outlaw using you to get back at me. We've been over this time and time before."

"I know, and I'm awful sorry, Matt. Please say I'm forgiven." She looked at him, tears lurking in the depths of her blue eyes and he slumped in his chair. Micheline knew she'd won – like most men, he could handle anything but tears.

"Of course, Kitty. I – I just…"

She sat up and smiled at him. "You're right. I'm not feeling all that good. I think I'll go back to the Long Branch and lay down for a while. Why don't you see if you can spare a little time for a visit this afternoon? Maybe you can make me feel better." With a saucy grin, she took a final sip of tea, rose to her feet and danced out.

Matt stared after her, frowning.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Great Bend, KS ~ that afternoon**_

"Hi Red. Miss me?" It was Newt Granger, Liebling's deputy, with her lunch. Kitty did her best to smile, though she was not in the least happy to see him. The short, wiry man leered back at her. Kitty suppressed a shudder. As soon as he'd walked in with her lunch tray the day before, she'd known he was trouble. His eyes had roamed lustfully over her body, and he'd wasted no time in suggesting that if they were to get better acquainted, she might find her stay more pleasant. She was pretty sure he meant her to assume the reverse could also be true.

Right now Kitty was on a mission, however, so she put on a fake smile and took the tray. "Oh, Deputy? Could you get me that newspaper your boss was reading earlier? He said I could have it when he was done, but then he got called away in a hurry." She batted her eyes. "I'd be ever so grateful." Her voice held a promise of the kind of thanks she had no intention of delivering, but Granger was a willing mark.

He returned in a moment with the rolled up paper, sliding it through the bars only slightly, so she'd have to come up close to him to get it. Kitty steeled herself to the task. In these situations, she much preferred to be the one controlling the action, so she moved quickly up to the bars, her gaze locking with his. Never looking down, she deftly slipped the paper from his grasp before he could react, then distracted him by reaching out with her free hand to stroke his cheek. As she'd intended, surprise held him frozen just long enough for her to back out of reach, purring, "Thank you ever so much, Deputy..." in a tone completely at odds with the formality of the words. With a final dazzling smile, she dipped her head in a gesture of dismissal, then turned away to focus on her lunch tray as the befuddled deputy stumbled back to his desk.

As soon as he was gone, Kitty's focus shifted to her prize. She opened the newspaper and immediately let out a small gasp. It was the _Ellsworth Examiner_, and the headline proclaimed, "Lucky Lady Killer Captured!" The article was quite informative. It seemed her mysterious 'twin', described as a 'flame-haired beauty with sapphire eyes and a heart of ice', had been dealing faro at the Lucky Lady Saloon up the road in Ellsworth, and had been putting some of the house's winnings aside for herself. When the saloon's owner, one Lem Prescott, grew suspicious and discovered her stash, she'd thwarted his attempt to turn her over to the law by shooting him. He'd been found in a pool of blood on the floor of her room, and she'd been seen fleeing town on his horse.

According to the article, she'd had the misfortune to be spotted at the Highland Hotel in Great Bend, and was subsequently surprised in her room and taken into custody by one Sheriff Dan Liebling, who was holding her until the expected arrival of Circuit Judge Oliver Murphy the next week, at which time she would be tried and no doubt convicted. The paper hastened to assure its readers that, given the judge's reputation for swift and severe justice, she would undoubtedly hang for her crimes when the sun rose again the next morning. Kitty shuddered.

She scanned over the article again, pausing at 'her' name – Micheline Buisson. Wait. Not "BUSSON" like Liebling had pronounced it, but BWEESOHN – it was a French name. And one she'd heard before. It was the name of the man her Aunt Charlotte had married. She knew they'd had children, and she was pretty sure several were girls. If this woman were her cousin it would explain the apparent resemblance. Perhaps her cousin could have been seen getting off the stage in Dodge, and word relayed to Matt that she'd returned safely. If he hadn't actually been able to get free to see her by the time he got Liebling's telegram, he might have sent a reply saying she'd arrived.

But by now he should have figured out that the woman wasn't her. So why hadn't he sent a correction? Why hadn't he investigated? Or come for her? Even if he couldn't make the trip himself, he should have at least made some arrangement to have her released by now. None of it made sense. And if this article was to be believed, she was quickly running out of time. She took a deep breath and considered. Pretty soon she would have to give up on being rescued, and find some way to escape.

Folding the paper, she picked up the bowl of stew on her tray. She still wasn't hungry, but it wouldn't do to faint in the middle of an escape attempt. As she ate, she sifted the possibilities. They were fewer than she'd like, and distasteful as it was likely to be, the choice was clear. The key to her freedom, literally and figuratively, was held by the randy deputy, Newt Granger.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Dodge City, KS ~ same afternoon**_

Shep Harlow rode easily into Dodge, sitting his horse casually, almost lounging in the saddle. He looked carefully about without seeming to, taking in the prosperous looking stores, the thriving saloons, and the number of farmers in town. Damn. Jay Mantley was right. Dodge was ripe for the plucking. And they were just the group to do it.

He rode to the livery stable and arranged to put his horse up. "Where's your hotels?" he asked the kid who offered to rub down his horse for a nickel.

"Try the Dodge House – right on Front St. 'Bout half way down on the right."

"And which one is the best saloon?"

"Wee-lll, the Long Branch has the purtiest gals, and they don't water the whiskey. An' Miss Kitty don't allow no crooked dealers, so I reckon that's yore best bet."

"Sounds like it. Thanks." He flipped a coin to the boy and sauntered over to the Dodge House where he registered, dumped his saddle bag, doused his face with water, and headed for a drink at the Long Branch.

Just inside the door, he paused and stared. The woman coming out of the office –well, now, damned if it wasn't Micheline Buisson. He hurried forward and grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop. "Hey, gal. Say 'hi' to an old friend, why doncha?" Then he kissed her hard on the mouth. When he let her go, he saw the recognition in her eyes, but she fought free of his hand and slapped his face.

"Let go of me, you no 'count cowboy," she spat.

"Awww, c'mon, Misha… doncha recognize me?

"My name is Kitty – Kitty Russell, and I own this saloon," she snapped back.

"Kit – Kitty Russell?" Momentarily he seemed dumbfounded. He knew that name. Mantley had told him to keep an eye on Kitty Russell in case things went south. He'd heard rumors she was the marshal's woman and if she was… well, it might be an ace in the hole for them.

And now, here was Misha Buisson, proclaiming that she was Kitty Russell.

"Well, ma'am, I am certainly sorry. You looked so much like a gal I used to know. But now, up close, I can see I was wrong. You're older'n her, for one thing." He grinned at her to take the sting out of his words. "How 'bout I buy you a drink to make up?"

Micheline's mind was working furiously. Shep Harlow could ruin all her plans – or improve them. What was he doing in Dodge? Best she find out. She smiled coyly at him. "Wellll…."

She led the way to a back table and signaled Sam to bring them drinks. "So where did you meet this gal who's my double?" she asked.

" Over Laredo way. Musta been two – three years ago now. Ever been to Texas, ma'am?"

"Can't say as I have. Too damn hot for me." She turned to Sam. "Leave the bottle, and – and why don't you sweep up outside."

"Yes, Miss Kitty." Sam said obediently, but he looked back over his shoulder as he collected the broom and left.

"He's too damn nosey," she muttered. "Keep your voice down, Shep. So what are you doing here?"

"More to the point, what are **you** doing here, 'Miss Kitty'?"

"Got in a bit of trouble up north. I was holed up in Great Bend, looking for a way out. As luck would have it, Kitty Russell got off the stage there – she's my cousin, though I didn't know how much we looked alike 'til I saw her. Figured it was my chance. Slipped into her hotel room and knocked her out. Took her things and her ticket and left on the stage, neat as you please! Wasn't actually planning to come here to Dodge, but a fella who knew her got on at the next town, so I had to play it out." She shrugged. "Turns out she's got a real nice setup. Fell into a honey pot, here."

"Way I hear tell, Kitty Russell is the marshal's woman. You aiming to step into her shoes all round?"

"Jealous?" She downed her drink and poured them two more.

"More curious 'n anything. How long you figure you can keep this up? You already said that bartender was nosey."

"Ahhh…. I figure on moving on as soon as I pluck Kitty Russell for all I can get out of this set up. What about you? Still riding with Mantley?"

"Jay's been right good to me."

She looked at him shrewdly, toying with her glass. "Soooo…. how long you figure to hang around?"

He shrugged. "Couple days, more or less. See how things go."

She made up her mind. "You and Mantley and his boys have designs on that bank across the street?"

"Now, Misha, that would be tellin'." He gave her a foxy little grin. "Course, ya never know what a fella might let slip in the course of pillow talk." He raised one eyebrow in a questioning sort of smirk.

"Dammit, I told you my name is Kitty, now, and much as I might enjoy your offer, it's too dangerous. Matt Dillon's coming over this afternoon – I wouldn't want you two to meet in my boo-dwawr."

"Hmmm. Well, that's the kinda risk a fella doesn't wanna take. I hear he's a fair shot." He drew his finger down the inside of her arm. "Although, it's mighty temptin'."

"Get out of here." She gave him a slant-eyed look. "If I find out Dillon's gonna be out of town for a while, I might let you know."

"Might take you up on that." He drew his finger down her arm again and she shivered. Suddenly he seized her wrist and was twisting it hard. "Mind you keep your mouth shut about Mantley and the boys. Pillow talk can go two ways, and if you queer this for us, I'll have to kill ya."

"Let go of me, you big ape," she twisted in his grip. "You can trust me. You know that."

"You run out on me in Laredo."

"I got a better offer," she snarled, twisting free and then rubbing her wrist. "You hurt me. That's gonna bruise."

"Your 'better offer' didn't last long."

She bit her lip. "Okay, so it wasn't as good an offer as I thought it was. He walked out on me before we hit the Oklahoma border. Shoulda known better than to believe a gambler."

"Well, there's always second chances." He took a final swig of whiskey and stood up.

"Yeah. Yeah, there are," she muttered, watching him speculatively as he swaggered out of the saloon. "Just not necessarily with the same man."

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Great Bend, KS ~ later that afternoon**_

"Damn. Lost again." Kitty sighed heavily and gathered up the cards arrayed on the cot in neat formation. She knew she was lucky to have the cards at all, but she thought if she had to play one more game of solitaire, she'd scream. If she just had a partner, she could at least play poker... or maybe it was time to put her other 'game' into action.

"Oh, Deputy! Deputy could you come here for a minute, please?"

Newt's face was a picture of suspicion as he peered into the cell area. "Whatcha need?"

Kitty smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes. "Nothing much, I promise. I could really use some water, if you wouldn't mind."

"All right. But this ain't no hotel, ya know!"

"No, of course not! Thank you so much, Deputy!"

Grumbling something about 'women' under his breath, Granger disappeared into the outer room. He was back in a minute carrying a tin cup filled with water, which he carefully handed through the bars.

Kitty gave him a look of fervent gratitude and began to drink. She swallowed about two-thirds of it before she made her move, 'accidentally' bumping her arm on the bars and spilling the water down her chest. "Oh dear! Look what I've done!" Kitty handed Granger the cup, and then with what appeared to be an unself-conscious gesture, repeatedly ran her hands down her chest, whisking off the water. She could feel Granger's gaze lock on to her womanly assets. She smiled inwardly – ah, the power of cleavage. Now, while he was distracted...

"Thank you, Deputy." She paused for effect and breathed deeply, watching his eyes follow her chest. "You know, I've been playing solitaire all afternoon, but it's so much more entertaining to play against someone else. I know we have to stay on opposite sides of these bars, but perhaps since you're stuck here keeping watch, we could pass some time playing cards?"

She could see Granger's eyes flicking repeatedly to her chest as the enticing prospect of being close to her warred with his worry over possibly breaking the rule against fraternizing with prisoners and his innate suspicion that a woman had to be up to something. Kitty smiled her most innocent and beckoning smile, while managing to let her hand stray to her cleavage. She could see his resolve waver, and knew the moment it broke.

"Well, I don't guess there'd be no harm in a few friendly games, jes' to pass the time."

Kitty nodded. "Of course not. You'll be out there, and I'll be in here. I can hardly escape or anything with you watching me, after all!"

Granger looked pleased at this thought. "Well, that's surely true."

Kitty pressed her advantage. "Why don't get yourself a chair from the front, and we can set up the spare one right here outside the cell, as our card table."

Granger simply nodded in agreement and ducked out, returning with two wooden chairs. Kitty pulled the cot away from the wall to use as her seat, and gathered up the deck of cards while Granger set up their 'table' and seated himself. Figuring it best to give him the illusion of control, she only briefly shuffled the deck after she gathered it up, then handed it to him to deal. She made sure to let their fingers touch as she released the cards, and gave him her best 'oh you big strong man' look.

Slightly flustered, he almost dropped the cards, but he recovered and made a passable attempt at shuffling them. Definitely NOT a professional, Kitty assessed. So far, so good.

He paused and looked up, his fingers on the top card. "You okay with 5-card draw?"

"Fine with me. Whatever's your pleasure." Kitty smiled and subtly licked her bottom lip.

Granger's eyes unfocused for a second, then he shook himself slightly and dealt.

Kitty fanned her cards. Pair of eights, King high. Good enough to do some bidding. She smiled to herself. Time to start seeing what Deputy Newt was made of...


	3. Chapter 3

**Previously:**

_Kitty pulled the cot away from the wall to use as her seat, and gathered up the deck of cards while Granger set up their 'table' and seated himself. Figuring it best to give him the illusion of control, she only briefly shuffled the deck after she gathered it up, then handed it to him to deal. She made sure to let their fingers touch as she released the cards, and gave him her best 'oh you big strong man' look. _

_Slightly flustered, he almost dropped the cards, but he recovered and made a passable attempt at shuffling them. Definitely NOT a professional, Kitty assessed. So far, so good._

_He paused and looked up, his fingers on the top card. "You okay with 5-card draw?" _

"_Fine with me. Whatever's your pleasure." Kitty smiled and subtly licked her bottom lip. _

_Granger's eyes unfocused for a second, then he shook himself slightly and dealt. _

_Kitty fanned her cards. Pair of eights, King high. Good enough to do some bidding. She smiled to herself. Time to start seeing what Deputy Newt was made of..._

_**Dodge City, KS ~ same afternoon**_

"I'm going over to the bank, Sam. If the marshal comes in, ask him to wait, will you?"

"Sure thing, Miss Kitty." He frowned as she walked out of the door. She hadn't even looked at the books since she'd been back. It wasn't like her. And the whiskey drummer was due. Sam sighed. He decided to make up the order and pass it by Kitty when she returned – even if Matt Dillon was waiting for her.

Micheline walked up to the window at the bank. "I'd like to make a withdrawal, please. But first I'd like to know my balance."

The young teller gaped at her. "Gosh, Miss Kitty, usually you just go right on in and see Mr. Bodkin. He's in his office. You can go on back."

"Of – of course. I wasn't going to bother him, but…" Micheline glanced around the bank, and the teller hurried around the partition to knock on Bodkin's door and guide her inside.

"Miss Kitty wants to make a withdrawal – and to know her balance," he announced. Bodkin straightened and stared at the woman.

"Usually **you** tell **me** what your balance is supposed to be, Kitty."

"I know. I just want to make sure you're on your toes," she laughed. "Let's see how far off you are."

Bodkin frowned and then opened the ledger on his desk, flipping pages until he came to one labeled "Russell, Kitty – Long Branch Saloon" and ran his finger down the long columns. "You have four hundred thirty-eight dollars in the Long Branch account, and," he flipped two pages to one labeled "Kitty Russell – personal account" and peered at the bottom of the page, "another nine hundred and twenty seven dollars – and fifty cents in your personal account." He scribbled on a piece of scrap paper. "That's a grand total of thirteen hundred sixty five dollars and fifty cents. Do we agree?"

Micheline's mind was whirling. She'd never expected so much – add in the receipts of the last couple of nights at the Long Branch and with that much money she could – she could go anywhere – become anyone. Yes, indeed, it had certainly been her lucky day when she'd caught sight of Kitty Russell.

"Kitty? Miss Russell?" Bodkin's voice brought her back to her surroundings. ""Is something wrong? Do our figures disagree with yours? Of course, we'll be adding interest in a couple of days..."

"No. No – you're… As always, Mr. Bodkin, you're absolutely accurate." She smiled at him. "Now I'd like to make a withdrawal."

"Yes, indeed, Kitty. Which account?"

"Oh, both of them. I'd like the thirteen hundred."

"What?" Bodkin half rose out of his desk chair and stared at her.

"What's the matter? Is there a problem?" Her smile had vanished and a frown now marred her pretty countenance.

"N-no, of course not. It's just – that's a lot of money…"

"It certainly is." She climbed to her feet. "Will you tell the clerk to gather it up for me?"

"Kitty, you know better than that. That much money – well, it'll take time to get it together – and there's paperwork – I'll have to create drafts that you'll have to sign – I – how soon do you think you'll need it?"

She glared. Her lips were pressed tightly together. "That money belongs to me, Mr. Bodkin, and I want it. Now."

"I can't give it to you now." Bodkin was annoyed. Usually Kitty Russell was a joy to deal with. This unreasonable demand was outside of his experience with her. "You'll have to come back tomorrow morning. That's the soonest I can give it to you."

Micheline thought suddenly of what he had said. _"…drafts that you'll have to sign…"_ and realized that her signature might betray her. She had to find something of Kitty's with her signature and practice. She frowned. Writing was hard for her, but she'd forged a bank draft once before and she could do it again – if she had to. "All right. Tomorrow morning, but that's as long as I'm giving you." She turned on her heel and left the office without even saying good bye.

She bit her lip and thought hard on her way back to the Long Branch. Surely Mantley wasn't planning on robbing the bank before the morning. Now that she knew how much money she was going to get, she could buy a train ticket all the way to St. Louis, even if she got off in Kansas City and took a train to San Francisco. They'd never find her. A smile of triumph lit her face.

She was humming by the time she swung into the saloon.

"The marshal stopped by and said to tell you he couldn't wait, but that he'd be by to check on you a little later. Seemed to think you weren't feeling all that good, Miss Kitty."

"I'm not. I'm going to lay down for a bit." No time like the present to practice Kitty's signature, and surely there would be something in her room that had the necessary words.

"Miss Kitty, before you go up, that whiskey drummer is coming by soon. I've got an order ready to go if you'd care to go over it??"

She frowned. "You're the bartender. I'm sure whatever you worked out will do." She hurried up the steps to her room, leaving Sam open-mouthed behind her.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Great Bend, KS ~ same afternoon**_

Kitty slipped her hand through the bars and laid her cards on the chair seat that was serving as their table. Newt's eyes lit up as he fanned his cards opposite hers – three Jacks, beating her Kings over sixes. Kitty allowed a rueful expression to cross her face. She sighed dramatically. "Oh dear, it seems you've beaten me again, Deputy! You really are quite the card shark!"

Newt chuckled. "Yes'm, you gotta get up pretty early in the morning to beat ol' Newt Granger. You shore do."

Kitty batted her eyes at him. "You know, Deputy, your talents really are wasted sitting around in a jail like this. With your skills and my looks, we could be pulling down a hundred bucks a week in no time in a big town like St. Louie." She looked off thoughtfully. "Of course, I suppose an important job like Deputy Sheriff probably pays pretty well too... It's a shame, really..." She sighed and gave him a very warm look. "We get along so well. I'm sure once we got to know each other... better..." Kitty fixed the hapless deputy with her sultriest stare. "...we'd make an unstoppable team."

Sighing again, she looked down and picked up the cards, pretending to concentrate on shuffling them. She'd seen the gleam of greed and lust in Granger's eyes, and she let him dwell on the possibilities. Ready to deal, she leaned forward, giving him another good look at her cleavage. She looked up at him smolderingly. He swallowed hard. "Another hand, Mr. Granger? Or is there something else you'd rather do?"

As if in a trance, Granger rose from his chair and opened the door to the front of the jail. Breaking eye contact for just a moment, he reached out and plucked the large key ring from its hook on the wall. As he turned back to her and closed the door, Kitty summoned her strength, willing herself to give him her best come-hither look. Just a little bit closer, and she could surprise him and make a run for it.

Fumbling slightly in his excitement, Granger sorted through the keys. "Aha!" He held up his prize, and then immediately moved to the door. Kitty moved back, both to keep him from thinking she might try to bolt, and so she could drape herself artfully against the side of the cell. "Hurry." Her voice was low and sultry. Tearing his eyes away from the vision of heaven that awaited him, Granger shakily inserted the key in the lock and turned it.

"Granger! Where are you?! Dammit, can't I go down the street and come back without you leaving your post!

"Goddam bastard!" Granger swore under his breath, turning the key back the other way to relock the cell door. Kitty didn't have to pretend disappointment as she met his frustrated gaze. She'd been SO close! Damn responsible lawmen – why couldn't he have stopped for a beer or something? She sighed as she watched her ticket to freedom return to the front of the jail.

Kitty pushed the bed back to its normal position and retrieved the deck of cards. After a moment's consideration, she quietly pushed the extra chair away from the cell bars. She didn't really want Liebling to know what they had been doing. She could hear Granger in the front insisting that he had been there the whole time, and had just that moment been checking on the prisoner. Good. She figured the Deputy would keep his mouth shut about the card game. She was sure the sheriff wouldn't approve, but what he didn't know would definitely help her.

Kitty sat down on the bed. She was sure she had Granger on the hook. Now all she had to do was wait for her next chance. Leaning forward, she lowered her head into her hands. Wait. All she did was wait. Wait for Liebling. Wait for Granger. Wait for the judge to arrive so she could be tried. Wait for somebody to please figure out that she wasn't who they thought. Wait for Matt to show up and make things right. Where the hell was Matt?

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Dodge City, KS ~ the same afternoon**_

"Marshal Dillon, could I speak with you?" Bodkin crept inside the jail door and looked around cautiously. "Festus?"

"Festus took the day off to go fishing," Matt replied looking at the banker. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, this is very confidential and under normal circumstances I would never… That is if word got out that I had… And then there are the resources of the bank to consider… But most of all I'm concerned. There is absolutely no reason… Why she could buy out Sam Milligan or even Fraser Hobbs with that kind of… Do you think she could be – well, I suppose we have to consider blackmail – that's why I came to you."

Matt had been waiting patiently for Bodkin to come to some kind of point, but at the word "blackmail" he sat up. "Blackmail," he exclaimed. "Who do you think is being blackmailed?"

"Why, Miss Kitty, of course."

"I think you better start at the beginning, Bodkin, and tell me what's going on."

"I thought I just did, Marshal."

Slowly Matt took him through the entire story. With Bodkin's protestations about confidentiality and the bank's rock solid resources, it took about twice as long as it should have, but at last he had the whole story. "I think you better send her a note that you can't fulfill her demands until tomorrow afternoon. That'll give me some time to try to figure out who's blackmailing her. Tell her it will have to wait until after the 3 p.m. stage. It's always late, so it'll be close to closing before it gets in. I don't like Kitty walking around with that kind of money. I'll have a talk with her. Thanks for coming to me, Mr. Bodkin."

He ushered the still protesting banker out of the office and sighed. He'd been putting off going over to the Long Branch all day. Maybe he was catching the flu or whatever it was Kitty had. Usually he couldn't bear to stay away from her for more than two or three hours when he was in town. The last couple of days, it had felt more like a chore to go to the Long Branch than anything else. He blew out a breath and planted his Stetson on his head. Best get over there.

He ducked around the corner and hastily climbed the steps to the second floor of the Long Branch. He glanced around before inserting his key. Thank God the street was deserted. He slipped inside and breathed a sigh of relief. He hated going to her room in the afternoon. There was always the chance of being spotted. He walked as softly as his boots could manage down the wooden corridor and tapped on her door. There was no answer and he unlocked it, expecting to find her asleep.

Instead she was sitting at her desk, head bent over a task and her concentration so total that he was able to come up behind her and kiss her neck before she realized he was in the room.

"Matt!" She screamed, jumping from her chair and whirling to meet his startled gaze. "Oh, my God, you scared me. How did you get in?"

Mutely he held up his key. "I knocked, but…

"I – I…" Micheline thought fast. "I was just working on some letters and the whiskey order." She wrapped her arms around his neck and backed him away from her desk before he could see exactly what 'letters' she'd been 'writing'.

"How are you feeling? I thought you were gonna lay down."

"I was. I am. I just – you know how it is, you're laying there half asleep and you think of something and… I couldn't go back to sleep." She began to kiss him, hot kisses that made his senses reel. She managed to unfasten his gunbelt and drop it to the floor before opening a couple of buttons on his shirt and sliding a hand inside it. She tugged at his long john shirt until he could feel her fingertips on his bare skin, then her hands were stroking up and down his back while her mouth fastened on his, demanding hungry kiss after hungry kiss.

"I – I – Kitty…" Panting, he pulled away from her enough to fumble with the fastenings of her bodice.

Suddenly there was the sound of gunshots in the street and cries of "Marshal Dillon! Marshal Dillon!" echoed through the window.

"Damn." He pushed away from her and reached for his gunbelt even as he began to fasten his shirt and stuff it into his pants. "I have to go, Kitty. I'll – I'll – I'll try to come by and see you tonight." He snatched his hat from the hook and ran out the door, deciding at the last moment to go down the inside steps of the Long Branch. Fortunately Sam was the only one in the saloon at the moment and he carefully ignored the marshal's rush for the street.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Dodge City, KS ~ the next morning**_

"Wael, I'm here to tell you that thar's somepin' mighty pekewlyer goin' on. Why, just the other day, I saw her over ta' the general store lookin' at derringers, Doc. Now what call would Miss Kitty have for a new derringer?"

"Festus, if you're gonna go snooping and spying around, you're bound to see things that don't make sense. F'r'instance, mebbe she was looking for a present for somebody."

"Now, Doc, that don't make a lick of sense. Who'd she be buying it for? We all got guns – and no little biddy derringers neither – less'n maybe she was thinking of buying you a derringer – carry in your bag. Is yore birthday coming?"

Doc frowned. "Oh, hush up, and eat your breakfast."

"Wael, Matthew, whadda **you** think? Ain't Miss Kitty acting not like herself ever since she got back from St. Louis? And what call has she got to buy a new derringer?"

The big lawman stared at his eggs. He'd tuned out most of the conversation between Doc and Festus, but when they'd started talking about Kitty, he'd focused a little more closely on what they were saying.

"I don't think she's been feeling good since she got back," he muttered, buttering a biscuit. "I know she was under the weather yesterday. And before you go hurrying over there to examine her, Doc, I already suggested that, but she thinks it'll pass and she doesn't want to bother you. Says you look tired."

"Well, sure I look tired. Up all night with old man Greeley till he died, and then seeing to the widow Newsome, and then, of course, the Johanssen baby. Doesn't mean I can't take a look at Kitty though, especially if she's feeling poorly. Have to admit, though, buying a derringer is an unusual symptom of sickness."

"I didn't mean…" Matt's voice trailed off. As usual, Doc had hit the nail on the head. Kitty **was** acting oddly, and he was more worried than he wanted to admit. He sighed deeply. "She isn't acting like herself, Doc. I – I'm wondering if something happened – something in St. Louis? If – if, maybe she met somebody – or – or something. If she's not happy here in Dodge anymore."

Unspoken were his true thoughts. _Was Kitty unhappy with him? With Dodge? She sure was acting oddly – and more than that, he was confused by his own reactions. When he'd passed by the Long Branch at the end of his late rounds, he'd actually felt relief at the sight of her darkened window, no lamp inviting him up to finish what they'd started that afternoon. What was going on with him? And with her?_ Abruptly he stood, pushing away the remains of his uneaten breakfast. "Gonna ride out to Mose McGovern's. He's been complaining that someone's been cutting his fences and stealing cows."

"Ahh, foot, Matthew, you know he puts up such scraggledy ol' strings of wire, it only takes a cow nudging it to knock it over."

"See you later, Festus, Doc," Matt nodded to the two men, tossed down some coins, clapped his Stetson on his head, and left Delmonico's.

There was silence at the table for a moment, then Doc tugged his mustache. "He's right worried about Kitty."

"Foot, Doc, so am I – and so are you. Admit it y'ol' scudder."

**~~*~~*~~**

As he left Delmonico's, Matt headed for the livery stable to get Buck. As he strode along, his thoughts were troubled. Abruptly he turned and entered the Long Branch. "Mornin', Sam. Kitty down yet?"

The elderly bartender glanced up and a smile lit his craggy face. "Just took her coffee into the office." Both men glanced at the closed door. "Didn't seem to be in a real good mood, though," he warned the marshal.

"I've got to ride out to see to see about some straying cows, but I thought maybe… Is there a bottle of champagne back there anywhere?"

"A picnic, Marshal?" Sam's face lit up. "Want me to go get Miss Kitty's buggy?"

"If you don't mind. And, Sam, maybe you could stop by Delmonico's and order the basket for me?"

"Sure thing, Marshal Dillon." Sam shucked his apron and hurried from the barroom as Matt took a deep breath and headed for the office.

He tapped lightly and then opened the door. Kitty sat at the small table, a cup of coffee at her elbow and stacks of money piled in front of her. He crossed quickly and dropped his hands on her shoulders. "Kitt…" he began, as she screamed and jumped beneath his grasp, spilling the coffee onto the bills and turning over the table. Wads of dollar bills and the piles of coins scattered across the floor. "I'm sorry, honey," he muttered. "I didn't mean to startle you…"

"What the hell **did** you mean to do, dammit?" Micheline was on her hands and knees snatching up the packets of bills as Matt righted the table. He helped her to her feet and then bent over to gather up the remainder of the money.

"I said I was sorry, Kitty. Where did all this money come from?"

"Oh – I – I haven't been able to get to the bank for a couple of days. I – was just counting it so I could make a deposit," she stuttered.

"Oh. Well, I was wondering… we haven't been out to Silver Creek in a long while, and since I have to go out to McGovern's place today, I thought we could – uhh – combine errands. You could drop the money off at the bank on our way." He looked at her eagerly.

"Combine…" she stared at him. "Silver Creek. You mean…"

"I thought we could go on a picnic. Sam went over to get a basket for us and if you'll supply the champagne…"

Micheline thought furiously. She needed to be in town to get her money from the bank and also to talk to Shep, but she didn't want to arouse Matt's suspicions. "What do you have to do at McGovern's place?" she asked slowly.

"His fences keep getting knocked over and his cows get to straying. He rode in and asked me to look into it. I thought maybe we could…" he looked at her face and sighed. "Not good timing?"

"Oh, Matt. I've got two drummers coming in today."

"Leave your order with Sam."

Micheline didn't say that that was exactly what she had planned to do in any case. In fact, she'd only just remembered Sam's question from the day before when she was grasping for an excuse.

"Honestly, Matt, a picnic?" She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm just not up for all that fresh air. And, I remember Mose McGovern when he was in here two nights ago. He smells." The expression on her face said it all. "And he's stingy to boot," she added.

Matt stared at her for a moment and then he nodded. "Sorry I scared you. And sorry my timing was bad." He sighed. "See you later, Kitty."

"Sure, Matt."

He met Sam on the boardwalk as the bartender hurried back to the saloon. "You can pick the basket up in fifteen minutes, Marshal. I figured it would take Miss Kitty that long to change, and…"

But Matt was shaking his head. "Never mind, Sam. Thanks anyway. She isn't up for '… all that fresh air…' and she has to meet two drummers today."

"But she told me…" Sam clamped his lips together. No point in making the marshal feel worse than he already did. "I'll stop back over to Delmonico's and cancel the order."

Matt nodded and went on to the livery stable. He felt as though a very large part of his world was starting to dissolve around him.

**~~*~~*~~**

Around ten Micheline emerged from the office and went straight to her room. Once there she concealed the money in the small traveling case to which she had already transferred all of Kitty's jewelry. Then she changed clothes and returned to barroom. "I'm going to step across to the bank, Sam," she said casually. "Keep an eye on things here, okay?"

"Of course, Miss Kitty."

At the bank, she went straight to Bodkin's office and knocked quietly on the door. She smiled at the banker as she sat in the chair beside his desk. "Well, Mr. Bodkin? Do you have my money?"

"I – Kitty, I can give you five hundred now. The remaining eight will have to wait until this afternoon. I thought it would come in on the evening stage, but I guess it got delayed." He swallowed hard and waited for her temper to rain down on him. Today she surprised him.

She sighed. "Well, if you can't, you can't."

"Do you want to wait and get the entire sum later?" Bodkin asked hopefully, but the red-head shook her head.

"Oh, no, I'll take the five now." She looked pointedly at the safe behind the banker, and opened her large reticule.

Bodkin bit his lip, and pushed a document at her. "Sign this while I count out the money, please."

Fifteen minutes later, she emerged from the bank and stopped by the stage office. "I need a ticket to Partridge, Burke, if you don't mind."

"Sure thing, Miss Kitty. Round trip, of course."

"Of course."

"Who you going to see, Miss Kitty?" Burke always liked to know the details of his passengers' trips.

Micheline smiled at him again. "An old friend. She hasn't been feeling too well lately and wants me to come for a visit. Things are kind of slow right now, so I thought I could squeeze it in."

"That'll be three dollars and thirty five cents, Miss Kitty."

She dug a twenty dollar bill out of her bulging reticule and stuffed the change and ticket back in. Burke watched her eagerly. "On your way to the bank, Miss Kitty?"

"Yes. Yes, Burke, that's exactly where I'm headed." She smiled one last time and left the depot. He watched her go with a grin that turned into a puzzled frown when she headed straight for the Long Branch.


	4. Chapter 4

**Previously:**

_Fifteen minutes later, she emerged from the bank and stopped by the stage office. "I need a ticket to Partridge, Burke, if you don't mind."_

"_Sure thing, Miss Kitty. Round trip, of course."_

"_Of course." _

"_Who you going to see, Miss Kitty?" Burke always liked to know the details of his passengers' trips._

_Micheline smiled at him again. "An old friend. She hasn't been feeling too well lately and wants me to come for a visit. Things are kind of slow right now, so I thought I could squeeze it in."_

"_That'll be three dollars and thirty five cents, Miss Kitty."_

_She dug a twenty dollar bill out of her bulging reticule and stuffed the change and ticket back in. Burke watched her eagerly. "On your way to the bank, Miss Kitty?"_

"_Yes. Yes, Burke, that's exactly where I'm headed." She smiled one last time and left the depot. He watched her go with a grin that turned into a puzzled frown when she headed straight for the Long Branch._

_**Great Bend, KS ~ that afternoon**_

Kitty paused, the Jack of Spades poised over the Queen of Hearts. The door slamming, followed by tuneless whistling signaled that Deputy Granger had returned. She strained to hear, but could make out no other footfalls, no conversation. Finally, a break! Now if the sheriff would just stay gone this time. Hearing Granger's footfalls approaching, she quickly scooped up the cards and hid them under the covers, then swung her legs up on the bunk and stretched out on her side, making sure some ankle was showing. Hearing the door to the cell area swing open, she closed her eyes. When he pushed it shut, she let them fly open, as if she'd been awakened by the noise.

Looking up, she saw him standing in front of her cell, his eyes roaming hungrily over her prone form. Suppressing a shudder, she forced a smile onto her face and pushed herself up onto one elbow.

"Why, Deputy! I do believe I was just dreaming about you, and now here you are, in the flesh!" She pushed herself the rest of the way up, managing to flash a bit more ankle as she swung her legs over the edge of the cot and rearranged her skirts into proper order.

Granger was following her moves avidly, his mounting excitement all too evident. When he spoke, his voice cracked slightly. "Sheriff's heading out to the Miller ranch. Won't be back for a few hours. Figured we could pick up where we left off earlier..." He held up his hand, from which dangled the ring of cell keys.

This was it. No more waiting. Kitty stood, slowly smoothing her hands down the front of her clothing. She smiled and batted her eyes. "No time like the present, I always say."

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Meanwhile, in Dodge City...**_

By one in the afternoon, the first poker game had begun, some cowboys had drifted in, and Shep Harlow was sitting at the back table, deep in conversation with Kitty Russell.

"So, Misha, maybe you and me – we could get back together?" Harlow studied the ring his beer made on the table top, rubbing it with his finger and drawing it out into a distorted oval.

She laughed. "Stop calling me that, Shep. My name is Kitty. Kitty Russell."

He grinned. "Okay, **Kitty**. Howsabout you and me, we get together?"

Micheline studied Shep. He had always been able to stir her blood, and there was no denying that he still appealed to her. On the other hand, he posed a real danger. He could call her Misha at the wrong moment and her whole pretense might crumble.

He drew his finger down her arm and she shivered. Maybe once more for old times' sake… Dillon was out of town and no one ever had to know…

"Y'know, you could have a real little gold mine here. You and me – we could turn it into quite a saloon. Poker and roulette. A little blackjack, maybe. Some girls who were willing to be **real** friendly… This could be a nice little money maker. Yes, sir." He leaned back and contemplated his good luck in finding Misha in the middle of a scam.

Micheline took a slow sip of her beer and thought about Shep. He'd always been a greedy bastard. One reason she'd left him in Laredo had been that gambler – but the other one had to do with the plans he'd made for her once he was tired of having her exclusively.

"All right, Shep."

He looked surprised, but then casually pleased. He'd thought he might have to threaten her a little, but obviously she'd missed his brand of loving.

"Here's what we'll do. I'll go up in a little while. 'Bout fifteen minutes later you leave and come up to the back steps. I'll unlock that door and you come to my room – it's number 7 – behind the curtain. Don't be seen on the balcony. I don't want to ruin 'Kitty's' reputation." She smiled at him – a slow, lazy smile that promised. What it promised was another question – one that Shep Harlow never thought to explore.

**~~*~~*~~**

In her room, Micheline had carefully staged the scene. She'd ripped the front and sleeve of her jacket before taking it off and flinging it onto a chair. She'd removed most of the money from her reticule and secured it, but she'd left some twenties and some gold coins sprawled from the bag in a little spiral across the top of the spread. Her careful imitation of Kitty's updo was disarranged and several strands fell in her face.

Shep knocked once and then twisted the knob and slipped inside. "Hey, there," she purred, but the distraction wasn't enough.

"Say, what is this?" Shep's quick glance took in her staging and he knew instantly that she had sprung a trap for him. "Why you…" he backhanded her, knocking her against the dresser. She screamed, and lurched forward, bringing her derringer up from the pocket where she had concealed it and shooting him point blank in the chest.

"You little whore," he bellowed as she emptied the gun into his body. He tried to get his fingers around her throat, but by then the sounds had penetrated to the barroom and Sam and Festus ran up to the landing. Matt shoved them aside, ran into the room, and pulled the dying man off Micheline, removing his clutching fingers. "You – you shot me…" he muttered, slumping back to the floor as his eyes fluttered closed for the last time. Matt pulled Micheline into his embrace.

"Kitty, what happened? Are you all right? Kitty, my God, what happened?"

"Matt, oh, Matt…" she sobbed, leaning into his solid strength. "He – he – I thought it was you, knocking on the door… he – he tried to… to… I killed him, Matt. I had to."

"Shhhh, honey. It's all right. Festus…" Matt looked for his deputy. "Get Doc. And then have some men take this – this scum over to Percy's."

"Sure thing, Matthew." But the look he gave Micheline was speculative and a little suspicious.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Back in Great Bend...**_

Kitty watched as Newt Granger swung the cell door closed, leaving the keys dangling from the lock. More quickly than she expected, he stepped forward and grabbed her around the waist. Afraid he might push her down on the bed, she moved into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. He was as revolting as she'd expected, but she forced herself not to think about it, pushing against him so he backed up a step, and then another, until he was stopped by the front bars of the cell. He didn't seem to notice. His hands were all over her, grabbing her ass, fondling her breasts. She could feel his arousal, and knew she didn't have long before he'd want to lift her skirts and get down to business.

Thankful for an excuse to break the kiss, she pulled back, sliding her hands down to his chest. "Ooh, Deputy, you do get a girl's blood pumping!" she cooed. "Now let me get these buttons so I can feel that manly chest!" Quickly she slipped several buttons from their holes and slid a hand inside his shirt, stroking across his chest until she found a nipple and giving it a good squeeze. He groaned in appreciation. As she scraped her nails back across to pinch the other nipple, his head fell back, his eyes fluttering shut at the erotic sensations. Seizing her chance, Kitty reached up as if in a fit of passion and grabbed his head to pull him to her. Anticipating another kiss, he offered no resistance.

She saw his eyes open wide as she clamped onto his ears hard. As his hands left her body to stave off what he suddenly realized was not an amorous advance, she pulled him forward, unbalancing him, and then shoved with all her strength, driving his head backwards into sharp-edged iron bars. He managed to get his hands on her arms, but before he could do more, she saw his eyes roll back in his head and he became dead weight. She released him, letting him slide down into a heap on the floor. Not wasting a moment, she slipped out of the cell and turned the key to lock him in, then tossed the key ring under the bunk in the next cell. No point in making his rescue any easier than she had to.

Kitty slipped out into the front room of the jail. Her heart was hammering and her mouth was dry, but she felt exhilarated by her success. A corner of her mind wondered if Matt felt this intensely 'alive' when he was matching wits with outlaws. She'd always just seen the danger, never imagining it could come with this addictive feeling.

She'd thought about trying to take a gun from the rack on the jail wall, but ultimately decided against it. She really didn't want to shoot anyone if she could help it, and speed was more important than anything else at this stage of her plan. So she simply crossed the room to the side door. From there she could slip into the alley behind the jail and work her way down to the livery stable. There was bound to be some horse she could take – unfortunate to add horse stealing to her list of offenses, but there was no help for it.

Taking a deep breath, Kitty opened the jail door and stepped out into the side alley. Closing the door behind her, she pivoted toward the back of the building... and walked right into the chest of Sheriff Dan Liebling.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Dodge City, KS, the next afternoon**_

With the evening's work fast approaching, Micheline sorted through Kitty's wardrobe, discarding many of the dresses and putting aside the ones that appealed to her. Next she indulged in an orgy of trying on the gowns, pirouetting in front of the mirror. Some, she decided, needed more decoration, others needed to have the necklines altered, and still others were simply perfect as they stood.

She changed into one of those, an acid green dress with orange accents that fit her like a second skin, and highlighted her hair. It showed almost no signs of wear, and Misha decided that it must be a new purchase. She smoothed it over her hips, adjusted the bustle at the back, and tugged gently on the neckline, which was daringly low. Then she smiled at herself in the mirror and patted her upswept hair. A glittering necklace, matching earbobs and hairclips completed the effect.

She twirled in front of the mirror for one final inspection. Perfect. She licked her lips. If this dress didn't see the elusive marshal in her arms by the end of the evening, the man had more restraint than she thought possible. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, thrust her chest out, and headed for the stairs.

**~~*~~*~~**

Sam glanced up as she descended and did a double take. Surely Miss Kitty wasn't wearing **that** dress tonight. He still remembered the argument she and the marshal had had about it two years ago. It had taken nearly a week for them to make up and Sam knew for a fact that she'd promised never to wear the dress for work again. Whatever had possessed her to drag it out now?

He quickly returned to polishing glasses and kept his head down. It was going to be a very interesting night at the Long Branch – and he kind of wished he'd taken it off.

**~~*~~*~~**

"Kitty sure stands out tonight," Doc remarked sourly to Festus as they sat at their 'regular' table a few hours later.

"That there dress is like a railroad lantern on a dark night. All shiny and beckonin'."

Doc laughed briefly, knuckled his mustache, and took a sip of his beer. "Yeah, well that's one way a' putting it. Wonder what Matt's gonna say when he winds up here on his rounds."

"You know Matthew don't never say nothin' to Miss Kitty 'bout her clothes. I don't think he even notices what she wears."

"Hmmmph. Bet he notices tonight." Doc took another sip of his beer. He sensed that Kitty was avoiding their table, and he and Festus were both trying to stretch out their drinks.

Doc kept his shrewd old gaze on Kitty, watching as she flirted with a pair of poker players until she'd driven the two friends into drawing on each other. Fortunately Matt appeared before any real harm could be done and he sent the men over to the jail to sober up under Festus' watchful eye. Then he looked Kitty up and down, tightening his lips. "Let's sit down, Kitty, Doc looks kind of lonesome, now that Festus had to leave."

Micheline smiled up at him flirtatiously. "Anything you want, Marshal. Anything at all that you – **want**."

He tightened his hand on her arm and frowned. "Look here, Kitty…"

At the table, she asked, "Do you want a beer, Matt?"

"Doc?"

"You buying?"

"Uhh, yeah." Dillon groped in his vest pocket and produced a coin, and Kitty signaled to her bartender.

The three of them sat in uneasy silence, waiting for their drinks.

"Town quiet, tonight, Matt?" Doc asked randomly.

"Two drunks mixing it up at the Lady Gay. That's about it. Old Man Erskine's boys. Dumped 'em both in the water trough and sent 'em home to sleep it off."

Doc grinned briefly, and Micheline laughed. Matt shifted uneasily in his seat. "Somethin's in the air, though. I can feel it. Been too quiet, too long."

"You're borrowing trouble. It's quiet. Relax and enjoy it."

"Yeah, Matt, relax and enjoy it," Micheline licked her lips and looked directly into his eyes. She casually dropped one hand to rest on his thigh.

Doc finished his beer in one long swallow. "And that's exactly what I'm going to do. Go home and enjoy the quiet. Night, Kitty – Matt." He got up and left the table. He knew Matt had some things to say to Kitty, and the elderly physician thought he might get to them if he left them alone.

"You wanna go upstairs, Marshal?" Micheline leaned into him. "Now don't scold – Doc's gone and no one else can hear me."

"What's got into you lately, Kitty? You're not acting like yourself. And that – that dress…"

"Awww, c'mon. Don't pretend you don't like it." Coyly, she leaned toward him, displaying even more of her bosom. Her fingers strayed knowingly inward on his thigh, and she tilted her head to smile slyly up at him.

Matt stood abruptly. "See ya later, Kitty." He glared down at her. "And you know I don't."

She watched him stalk toward to the batwing doors and shrugged.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Great Bend, KS ~ the same night**_

Kitty awoke to the sound of hushed voices and boots in the outer office of the jail. It was dark, and she figured she'd been asleep for several hours, judging by the moonlight streaming in. She heard keys jingling, and then the door to the cells swung open. Though she could feel herself tense, she didn't move. Her instincts were screaming 'danger!' and it was an unhappy truth of her life that her instincts had a **lot** of experience to judge by. Grateful she was lying on her side facing the door, she cracked her eyes open to peer through the jumbled curls that had fallen across her face.

The first figure through the door she recognized as the Deputy, Newt Granger. He had been furious when Liebling brought her back to her cell after her aborted escape. At the time he'd still been too unsteady on his feet to do more than swear and threaten her, but now he seemed quite recovered. Her guess that this didn't bode well was confirmed as the other man entered, closing the door behind him. It was Cage Prescott. Both men had been denied the same thing, and it looked like they had somehow teamed up to get it.

Deciding that being on her feet where she at least had a chance to escape was more important than any possible surprise, Kitty opened her eyes fully and sat up. At her movement the two men froze, and then Newt let out a nasty chuckle. "Well, lookee here Cage, the lady's decided to greet us proper!"

Kitty got to her feet and mustered her most authoritative tone. "You men need to leave here right now! The sheriff made it clear what he would and wouldn't allow. He may be out at the moment, but he told me he was coming right back, so you'd best get out of here quickly before he catches you."

She thought she'd pulled it off pretty well, all things considered, but neither man was buying. Cage simply turned to the Deputy and ordered, "Open the door." Then he turned back to stare at her, his face an ugly mask of hate. "Don't you worry, missy, this won't take long. Newt here says you owe him a poke, but I figger you won't mind if he's quick about it. Then maybe I'll take a turn too. That way, it'll be the last thing you feel when I choke the life outta you."

Kitty thought she might have stopped breathing. She knew she should be doing something, thinking of something, that would keep this from happening, but instead she stood rooted to the spot, watching as Newt turned the key in the lock and swung the door open.

Cage fairly pushed Newt through the doorway, then shoved him aside and reached for her. Finally roused from her trance, Kitty tried to move back, but he was too quick. His long fingers dug brutally into her arms as he dragged her to him. Suddenly Newt was at his side. "Hey, she's mine first!" The Deputy tried to grab her, but Cage let go with one hand and pushed the smaller man back. Kitty took advantage of this distraction to give him a hard shove, but he was too strong and didn't let go. She felt the blow from his backhand slamming into her cheek almost before she'd had time to register the movement.

Suddenly she heard the sound of a trigger being cocked. Cage's head snapped around toward the noise. Newt was pointing his pistol at them, a mulish look on his face. "I said she's mine first."

Cage growled, but seemed to decide it wasn't worth the argument. He gave her a sudden hard shove that sent her sprawling backwards onto the cot. Pain shot through her as her head cracked against the bricks, and she thought she might pass out. As if from a distance she heard Cage shout at the other man. "Okay, okay! If yer gonna give her a poke, get on her and do it, then! We ain't got all night!"

Kitty heard the Deputy uncocking his gun, and then his ugly face was looming above her, creased in a piggish leer. She felt a hand close over her breast, squeezing painfully, and then another pulling at her skirts. Unfortunately for Newt, her skirts had become quite tangled when she fell, and he quickly abandoned his fondling to concentrate on gaining access to his ultimate prize.

As he began to tear at her clothing, Kitty started to fight back. Her head was clearing just a little, and it was enough for her to be able to thrash her legs beneath him. As he wrestled with her skirts and tried to mount her, she saw an opening and landed a hard blow to his jaw. Howling in surprise and pain, his cheek bleeding where her ring had cut it, Newt grabbed her arms and bore her back down onto the cot. "Lay STILL, bitch!" His look was murderous too. Kitty wondered if Cage was even going to get a chance to kill her.

Suddenly his eyes went wide with surprise, and he rose up off her. Or rather, she realized a moment later, he was _lifted_ off her. Cage had him by the scruff of the neck and yanked him up like an errant schoolboy. "I said we _ain't_ got all night! I see you ain't got balls enough, so I'm gonna show you how it's meant to be done." Almost carelessly he flung the flailing Deputy aside. Kitty heard Newt's body impact the bars on the side of the cell, and then a howl of pain and humiliation.

Quick as lightning, Cage drew his gun and turned to train it on his unfortunate comrade. Kitty heard Newt's howl turn to a whimper of fear. Cage's voice was ice hard. "Don't. Move. If I hear any noise from you, I'll plug you where you sit. Now, I'm going to finish this thing, and you get to watch. Got it?"

The Deputy made some sort of noise that Cage apparently took for assent, because he turned back to her, bringing the gun around to aim it at her chest. Kitty could see hate blazing from his coal-dark eyes, and as he moved a hand to his belt buckle, she could also see that he was ready to make good on all his threats.

As he moved toward her, a small corner of her mind marveled at the irony of it all – she'd been worrying ceaselessly about facing a hangman, but she'd never make it to the gallows now. Instead she'd die here, in the 'safety' of her jail cell, raped and strangled by this madman who thought she'd killed his brother. She wondered for a moment if she could somehow make him shoot her, but she knew he wouldn't. He might wound her to keep her still, but he wanted to kill her with his own hands.

As he reached the edge of the cot, he raised the gun to point it at her head, then slowly slid the cold metal barrel along her cheek until it bumped against her ear. "You try anything, I'll shoot your ear off first. Got it, bitch?" Kitty nodded her head a little, to let him know she did. She watched his left hand start to move, and then he tapped her cheek with the gun barrel. "Look at me, bitch!" She fixed her eyes back on his. In a moment she felt him grab the bottom of her skirts and yank them up to her waist. He grinned with sadistic pleasure as she felt his hand clamp onto her thigh and pull. "Spread 'em, whore."

A sudden loud bang froze him in place. Kitty screamed. Cage whipped around, letting go of her leg and pointing his gun first at Newt, who was still slumped on the floor, and then at the door to the cell area, which was still shut. In that moment, they both realized that the noise hadn't been a gun; it had come from up front, like maybe the outside door being slammed open against the jail wall.

"Granger, you incompetent idiot, where are you?" It was Liebling's voice shouting the question, and he was definitely not happy. "Answer me! Are you back there?" Almost involuntarily, Cage Prescott's gun moved to point at the hapless Deputy. A moment later, the door to the cell area swung open to reveal a red-faced Liebling, clutching a telegram in his fist. Kitty thought she might faint from relief.

"Prescott!" The sheriff's eyes narrowed as he took in the scene in Kitty's cell. Newt Granger had started to scramble to his feet, but had frozen half-way up at the sight of Prescott's gun pointed at his head. Prescott was standing with his back to where Kitty still lay sprawled on the cot. She realized that her skirts were still up around her waist, but she was too afraid to move to do anything about it.

"What's going on here?" demanded Liebling. "Somebody better start talking. Fast."

Prescott lowered his gun. "I came by looking for you, Sheriff, about the prisoner transfer tomorrow. Heard this lady yelling, and when I came back here I found your Deputy tryin' to have hisself a poke. I stopped him, as you can see." He waved his pistol in the direction of Granger, who was still cowering on his knees.

Liebling turned his gaze on Kitty, who finally gathered her wits enough to push her skirts back down and sit up a bit on the cot. The sheriff pointed down at Granger. "Did he try to... to take liberties, ma'am?"

Kitty could only nod, so shocked was she by what her erstwhile tormentor had just said. Prescott moved smoothly forward and grabbed an equally stunned Granger by the collar. Hauling the smaller man to his feet, he dragged him out and shoved him into the next cell. With an economy of motion that bespoke much practice, he caught the door of her cell, swung it closed and turned the key that still hung there, then pulled the key out and locked the Deputy in as well. Presenting the key ring to a startled Liebling, Prescott holstered his gun and touched his hat brim. "I'll leave the rest to you, Sheriff. As I was coming here to tell you, I'll be back at first light to pick up the prisoner for trial. We'll be taking the 7 a.m. stage to Ellsworth."

With that he moved smoothly out through the office, and had disappeared into the darkness before Kitty could so much as find her voice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Previously:**

_Liebling turned his gaze on Kitty, who finally gathered her wits enough to push her skirts back down and sit up a bit on the cot. The sheriff pointed down at Granger. "Did he try to... to take liberties, ma'am?" _

_Kitty could only nod, so shocked was she by what her erstwhile tormentor had just said. Prescott moved smoothly forward and grabbed an equally stunned Granger by the collar. Hauling the smaller man to his feet, he dragged him out and shoved him into the next cell. With an economy of motion that bespoke much practice, he caught the door of her cell, swung it closed and turned the key that still hung there, then pulled the key out and locked the Deputy in as well. Presenting the key ring to a startled Liebling, Prescott holstered his gun and touched his hat brim. "I'll leave the rest to you, Sheriff. As I was coming here to tell you, I'll be back at first light to pick up the prisoner for trial. We'll be taking the 7 a.m. stage to Ellsworth." _

_With that he moved smoothly out through the office, and had disappeared into the darkness before Kitty could so much as find her voice. _

_**Dodge City, KS ~ the same night**_

An hour after Matt's abrupt departure, the last of the drinkers and poker players cleared out.

"I'm going on upstairs, Sam. Close up."

"Sure thing, Miss Kitty." The bartender watched her climb the stairs. She seemed tired and a little dispirited and he wondered.

Once in her room, Micheline looked at the clothing she'd strewn about and sighed. She was tired, but she needed to start packing whatever of Kitty's things she wanted to take with her. Once Sam left, she'd go down and retrieve the night's receipts. She'd already cleared out Kitty's bank account – all but a few dollars – and if she got all packed tonight, she could catch the early morning stage before anyone was the wiser.

Grimly she set to work, folding clothing, filling Kitty's trunk. She made sure to help herself to the most expensive-looking and daring bits of lingerie. Finally satisfied with her choices, she strapped the trunk closed and pushed it into the corner by the far side of the door. She'd get someone to carry it to the depot for her in the morning.

She still had to put away all rejected bits and pieces, but first she wanted to get comfortable. Sighing tiredly, she started undoing the fastenings at the back of the green dress. She had originally thought to keep it, but Matt's earlier rejection had soured her on it. She had just finished undoing the bottom fastening when she heard a soft rap and the sound of a key turning in her door lock.

She froze as the door swung open to reveal the tall form of the marshal. "Matt," she exclaimed,

"The lamp was lit," he said slowly, looking around. "But you look busy. You cleaning or something?"

"The lamp... oh." Belatedly she realized that a light in her window was a signal between the two of them. "Yeah – I was just going through and getting rid of some old clothes."

"I hope that dress you're wearing one of 'em," he said sourly, dropping his hat on the peg and shrugging out of his coat.

"Why?" Micheline was still miffed at his earlier rejection. "Any man would **love** this dress. I think it looks good on me!"

"Kitty, you always look beautiful, but like I told you last time, the color hurts my eyes, and you know how I feel about necklines that low. I don't like other men looking at your... your... I don't like them thinking maybe you're available."

Micheline allowed a smile to quirk the corner of her mouth. She moved toward him, letting her hips sway. "But Matt, darling, I don't care what **other** men think. The **only** man I'm available to is standing right in front of me, worrying about nothing, when he could be reminding me why those other men don't have a chance." Pressing herself against him, she pulled his head down and kissed him passionately.

When she judged the level of his response adequately enthusiastic, she pushed back and smiled coquettishly up at him. "Since you dislike this dress so much, why don't we just take it off?" Shrugging out of the bodice, she let the garment slide sensuously down her body. Stepping out of it, she quickly pulled Matt to her again and reclaimed his mouth. He returned her heated kisses, holding her tightly against him and stroking her back. Pleased, she began to move him in the direction of her bed, even as her hands slid down to tug his shirttails free.

Pausing at the edge of the bed, she made quick work of his shirt buttons and dipped her head to rain kisses across his broad chest, pausing to take a taut nipple between her teeth. Her perfume filled his senses as he drew in his breath with a gasp. Letting her go, he reached between them to undo his gunbelt and let it slide to the floor. "Oh, Matt," she moaned as he wrapped his arms around her again." She resumed her ministrations, dropping feathery kisses across his chest and collar bones, tracing a path up his neck and along his strong jaw to find his mouth again and demand entrance.

His fierce response delighted her, and she pressed against him, losing herself for a moment in his hot, urgent kisses. When they broke for air, she let herself fall backwards onto the bed, her hands darting forward to pull him on top of her. "Matt, I want you..." she moaned, entwining her fingers in his hair, her lips seeking his.

She was surprised when she felt him roll sideways and pull away. Her eyes flew open to find him looking down at her, concern fighting against the haze of lust. "I – I need to ask you something, Kitty – first."

She suppressed a groan of frustration. This one spent altogether too much time thinking. "Can't it wait, Matt?" She moved swiftly to undo his belt buckle. "I need you **now**." Her hands moved lower to tug at the buttons on his fly.

"Mr. – Mr. Bodkin came to me yesterday…" He tried without much effect to still her nimble fingers. "He – he told me you – you'd…" He swallowed hard as she freed the final button and pushed the taut material aside. "You – took – Kitty, listen to me."

"Later…"

"No, I need to know why you…" Her hands were inside his pants now, expertly stroking him. She leaned in to nip at his chest.

"Matt, please… I need…"

"Kitty, you – you took all your money out of the bank," he managed to gasp out, and her hands and mouth went still.

"What? What the hell business is that of yours?" she snapped. "And who the hell does Bodkin think he is, telling you."

"He's worried about you, Kitty. So am I. Are you – is someone trying to blackmail you?"

Briefly, she thought of Shep, now buried on Boot Hill, and shook her head. "Nope. I don't pay blackmail, Matt. You should know that."

"Then why…"

"I – I – I wanted to surprise you." Micheline thought rapidly. "I – I'm buying a piece of property, and I didn't want to tell you till – it was a surprise. And now – now you've gone and spoiled it." She managed to pretend to suppress a sob, and he was instantly contrite.

"I'm sorry, honey." He sat up and gathered her to him. "Don't cry, please." Micheline let a long moment pass, and then began to kiss his neck and nibble on his earlobe. Reassured, he hissed in pleasure and began tugging at the fastenings on her corset. She wasted no time in helping him. At last the corset fell open and he tossed it aside. Now only her chemise stood between his lips and the prizes he craved.

He fumbled for the hem of the chemise, his fingers clumsy as the breasts he was trying to free distracted him. He bent to kiss their tops, then ruthlessly pulled the flimsy garment up and over her head. He felt her clutch his head as he slid his big hands behind her back and bent his mouth to suckle. As his mouth teased one breast, his hand slid around to fondle the other.

The hand on her back pressed her closer as he indulged in one of his favorite pastimes, touching the creamy skin of her back. He loved to stroke the smooth expanse with his long calloused fingers, feeling the silky texture against his hand, enjoying the way that his touch aroused her until she was writhing against him, as eager for completion as he was himself.

He slid his hand down her back, following a familiar pattern. He always started at her left shoulder, sliding his fingers down to her waist, then feathering his way up her spine and across to her right shoulder. From there he stroked slowly down to her waist on the other side, pausing half-way down to circle her bullet scar, faint and puckered, the only interruption to her creamy perfection, before finishing the journey back across and up to her left shoulder and starting the whole process again.

This time, though, he frowned and ran his hand back up to her right shoulder. He repeated the pattern twice more, confusion starting to interfere with his focus. Realizing he couldn't continue without looking, he lifted his head and murmured, "Turn around." He saw her eyes flare at the whispered command, and helped her to shift so she was facing away from him. She tucked her legs under her and sat up, and he immediately slid his hands around her to reclaim her breasts, caressing them, distracting her while he kissed his way down her back. The lighting was low, but good enough for him to see that her back was flawless - no puckery scar interrupted the milky perfection of her skin.

Momentarily he went still as the events of the past four days came surging into his memory – Kitty's odd laugh, her insistence that they pay for their drinks, the acid green dress, Tom Ford groping her, even the gunfight earlier this evening. And now – her smooth unblemished back. Whoever he was in the midst of making love to, it wasn't Kitty Russell. His hands stopped and his mouth clamped shut. _This isn't Kitty,_ a voice in his head screamed, and seconds later, it was joined by a chorus demanding, _Where is Kitty? Is she alive?_

"Matt? Matt, what's the matter?" Her voice, insistent and a little petulant, finally penetrated his daze. "Are you all right? You've got me… and then you stop dead. What's the matter?"

"Gosh, Kitty, I'm sorry," he forced himself to kiss her shoulder, while carefully extricating his hands. "I didn't mean to start something I can't finish." He rolled away from her and began quickly fastening his clothing.

"You can't finish? You seemed pretty damn eager to me. I could feel you…."

Standing up, he began stuffing his shirt back into his pants. "I meant – right now. I just stopped by to ask you about – about the bank. I was going to tell you that – that I have to ride out at – at one o'clock, have to meet the gold train shipment and ride back into Dodge with it. Then you got me all worked up and – I thought maybe we could, but – but, if I don't go now, I'll miss the train stop. We'll finish – I promise – just – later. Please, honey, understand. You know how important these gold shipments are. I forgot for the moment – you were so… I was counting on spending the whole night with you, but – there it is. It's the job, Kitty." By the time he'd gotten the words out he was finished dressing, his gunbelt in his hand. He leaned over and kissed her again, on the mouth this time, and then made good his escape.

"Dammit," she snarled, snatching a bottle of perfume from her nightstand and flinging it into the door behind his back. "Dammit, dammit, dammit."

**~~*~~*~~**

Matt wandered for hours through the empty streets of Dodge, his mind in turmoil, his senses alert. Something was wrong, but was it Kitty, or could it be him? Perhaps he had been mistaken about the scar on Kitty's back. Perhaps it had simply faded with time. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. He'd feel an awful fool if he mentioned his suspicions to Doc and then was proven wrong. More to the point it would horribly embarrass Kitty and then what would he do? How would he ever make that up to her? And yet, he'd swear there hadn't been a scar.

Finally he made up his mind and forced his steps to turn toward the Long Branch once again. The light in Kitty's window had long since been extinguished, but he ignored that and dragged his reluctant feet up the outside staircase to the locked back door. Inside, he stopped beside the table in the corner of the corridor and picked up the lamp that stood there. He lit it and then stepped as quietly as he could to her door. He thrust in the key and turned it softly, stepped inside, and tossed his hat in the general direction of the peg.

Kitty lay asleep in the big double bed, her skin glowing palely in the dark. For a long moment he stood looking at her and then he shrugged. It had to be done. He walked over to the bed, rolled her gently to the side and pulled her nightgown quickly up to her shoulders. The light flickered in a stray draft, but held steady enough to reveal her smooth, unblemished, unscarred back.

He sighed deeply, just as the woman in the bed woke and rolled back toward him. "Matt? I didn't think you were going to come back. It must be awful late." She shivered. "It's chilly. Get out of those clothes and come to bed."

But he just stood there, staring at her. Gradually her expression changed, hardening, becoming feral. Her lips thinned as her smile faded. She tossed her hair back and sat up straight. "Okay. What gave me away?"

"Kitty has a scar – from an old bullet wound – on her lower back. You don't. What's your name? And where's Kitty Russell?"

The woman in the bed laughed briefly. "And who's to say my name isn't Kitty Russell?"

"I am."

"Careful, Marshal. That sort of thing could get messy – and embarrassing – for both of us."

"Don't worry about me being embarrassed. Worry about the jail cell you're about to find yourself in."

"Jail cell? I don't think so."

"Get up. Get dressed." The grimness of his demeanor was beginning to penetrate that wall of self-possession she was hiding behind. A shiver slid down her spine.

"Look, Matt, it doesn't have to be this way. We can work things out between us. Forget Kitty Russell. Who knows if she's even still alive? There isn't one thing she did for you that I can't do better – more often – and a lot more the way you like it." By the time she'd finished the sentence her voice had lowered an octave into a lascivious purr, and her hand was once again on the buttons of his pants.

Matt deliberately stepped back. "Get up. Get dressed. You're done here." He hooked his hands in his gunbelt to keep from seizing her and shaking her until the truth came out. He knew if he touched her, she might well wind up on the floor, maybe even dead, and he needed to find out the truth. _If Kitty was hurt, or dead… _His mind reeled at the enormity of such a thought, and he missed Micheline's next move, only reacting when it was much too late and she had already fired the little derringer she'd hidden under her pillow. The shot grazed his arm but mostly whistled harmlessly through his sleeve.

Cursing, he jerked her up from the bed with one hand, and wrestled the little gun away with the other. "Dammit." He marched her over to the wardrobe, yanked open the door of the free-standing closet and seized one of Kitty's black skirts and a plain shirtwaist. Shoving them into her hands, he ground out, "Get. Dressed. Or I swear I'll drag you over to jail in your nightgown. Now."

Stripping deliberately, she dressed unhurriedly, sensuously. Matt watched her stoically, his jaw tense. In the light of his new knowledge, he wondered how he hadn't noticed. No doubt they were nearly twins, but now he could see that she carried herself differently, with more swagger, less assurance. And he'd always thought Kitty looked younger without her paint, but now he saw that this woman looked older, more haggard. He watched as she deftly combed her hair and piled it up on her head. Finally she pulled Kitty's red woolen cape from the armoire and flung it around her shoulders.

"All right, Marshal Dillon. Take me to jail," she snarled.

He nodded and she marched ahead of him, down the corridor and the back steps, across Front St. and up onto the board walk in front of the jail. It was almost time for the lamplighter to begin extinguishing the gas lamps that lined the street. Matt opened the door and she stalked in, only her bravado now keeping her on her feet. When Matt grabbed his keys and unlocked the first cell, she almost broke, but she had pride and that allowed her to make it inside to the cot where she sat rather heavily.

"What's your name? I can't book you under Kitty Russell."

"Why not? It's as good as any other, and by now, she's probably not alive to use it any longer," she said carelessly, not glancing at him.

"You better pray that's not true. Now tell me your name!" His voice sounded different to her ears. Different and – menacing.

She gave him a startled glance then and at the sight of his expression fear rose in her throat till it nearly choked her. "My name is Mi – Micheline. Micheline Buisson."

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Great Bend, KS, later that morning**_

Kitty settled back against the hard seat of the stagecoach, and started praying. It wasn't something she did a lot of, having found self-help a more reliable solution when danger had all too often visited her world. But every so often, it was the only weapon at hand, and right now, sitting handcuffed on this stage, staring across at the leering face of one Cage Prescott, was one of those times.

She had tried to tell the sheriff that Newt wasn't the only one threatening to harm her in the jail cell, but Newt, for some perverse reason of his own, had backed up Cage's story when Liebling questioned him, only asserting that Cage had misunderstood what he'd heard, and that she was a willing participant. Liebling had looked like he wasn't sure he believed that part, but in the end he'd let his Deputy off with nothing more than a threat to relieve him of certain sensitive bits of his anatomy should he ever even appear to be involved in such goings-on again.

And then she was awakened at dawn to find Sheriff Liebling preparing to hand her over to a much too pleased-looking Cage Prescott for transportation to Ellsworth - in a stagecoach that currently contained no other occupants. The look on Prescott's face told her that she would not enjoy the ride if that didn't change. And so she folded her shackled hands and prayed as hard as she knew how for somebody, anybody, to get on the stage with them.

She could hear the driver and a helper loading baggage, mailbags and packages on top of the stage, and then heard the driver climbing into his seat. Any minute he'd whip the horses into motion and Prescott would be free to exact revenge for Micheline's sins.

"Here you go, sir. I'll stow your bag for you."

Kitty's eyes flew open at the sound of the freight agent's voice, and she smiled to find her prayer answered. A drummer in a striped suit and bowler hat was clambering in to take a seat next to Prescott. Kitty instantly resolved that if she somehow survived this ordeal, the next drummer who came in the Long Branch was getting beer on the house, and she was buying a dozen of whatever he sold. She favored this one with her most charming smile, inquiring lightly, "Are you headed for Ellsworth too?"

Too lost in her eyes to notice her handcuffs, he smiled broadly and said yes indeed he was, and what a pleasurable trip it was bound to be, with such lovely and charming company.

Kitty sank back against the seat, limp with relief. Finally something had gone her way. She just had to hope it wasn't the only thing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Previously:**

"_Here you go, sir. I'll stow your bag for you." _

_Kitty's eyes flew open at the sound of the freight agent's voice, and she smiled to find her prayer answered. A drummer in a striped suit and bowler hat was clambering in to take a seat next to Prescott. Kitty instantly resolved that if she somehow survived this ordeal, the next drummer who came in the Long Branch was getting beer on the house, and she was buying a dozen of whatever he sold. She favored this one with her most charming smile, inquiring lightly, "Are you headed for Ellsworth too?" _

_Too lost in her eyes to notice her handcuffs, he smiled broadly and said yes indeed he was, and what a pleasurable trip it was bound to be, with such lovely and charming company. _

_Kitty sank back against the seat, limp with relief. Finally something had gone her way. She just had to hope it wasn't the only thing. _

_**Dodge City, KS, the same morning**_

"Mornin' Barney!" Festus touched his hat brim in greeting as he sauntered into the telegraph office.

"Mornin' Festus." Barney looked up from his desk to smile a greeting at the amiable Deputy. "What can I do for you?"

"Jes checkin' to see do ya have any telegrams fer Matthew, seein' as I'm a'headed over t' the jail."

Barney shook his head. "Nope, Festus, nary a thing come for the Marshal since that one a few days back, about Miss Kitty."

Festus nodded. "I'll just be moseying along, then. Thanks, Barney."

"Sure thing, Festus. Have a good day." Barney went back to his telegraph key, and Festus stepped back out into the bright morning.

"Festus!"

The hill man turned to see Doc coming down the boardwalk toward him. "Howdy, Doc! I was jes' headed over to the jail to brew up some coffee."

Doc fell in beside him. "Hmmph. Probably a risk to my health, but I suppose I'll come along with you."

Festus waved a hand in the air. "Aw, Doc, you know you like my coffee."

Doc looked over at his friend, already enjoying himself. "Oh, is that so? Now what would ever give you the idea that I like your coffee?, I admit I've drunk your coffee, and survived the experience. But liked it? That bitter witch's brew? Nope, can't imagine where you'd get a hare-brained notion like that." Doc shook his head, working to keep a smile from showing.

Festus played along happily. Nothing like tweaking ol' Doc to get a man's day started right. "If you weren't such a sour old grouch, maybe you'd find yer vittles tasted better!"

Doc's retort was delayed by their arrival at the jail. Festus opened the door and the two men entered to find the marshal slumped over his desk, head on his arms, snoring softly.

Doc sighed. "Guess you'd better wake him, Festus. He wouldn't want someone else to find him sleeping." He pointed over to the closed door that led to the cells. "And it looks like he may have guests."

"Matthew, Matthew, wake up." Festus shook the solid shoulder with an impatient hand. Matt groaned and lifted his head from the top of his desk.

"What... Who... Oh, Festus. I fell asleep, I guess." He rasped his hand over his chin and stood, straightening his back while trying to ease out the kinks that sleeping in his chair invariably left.

"Have we got a prisoner, Matthew?" Festus gestured at the closed door to the cells. "When did you pick 'im up? Close onto one, the last time I saw you making rounds."

The hill man moved to the little stove and began to make a fresh pot of coffee. Doc settled himself at the small wooden table.

Dillon blew out his breath. He hadn't thought about Festus last night when he was arresting Micheline, never mind Doc. "Yes," he began slowly. "Yes, we do have a prisoner." He turned to greet his other visitor. "Morning, Doc. Now, Festus, I don't want you to get upset. You either, Doc."

"My goodness, Matt. Who are you holding in there?" Doc sat up straighter, glancing at the cell door.

Festus clanked the top of the coffee pot. "Who you got back there, Matthew? Miss Kitty?" The hill man chuckled at his own joke. Matt closed his eyes. This wasn't going to be easy.

He opened them to find Doc giving him an assessing stare. "Spit it out, man. Who've you got back there?"

Festus had crossed to the back of the room. He took the cell keys off the hook and pulled open the door. "If'n you ain't gonna tell, I'll just take a look."

"Festus..." Matt began, but Festus was already through the door. Before he could say another word, Festus was back, sputtering.

"Have you gone addled in the haid, Matthew? That's Miss Kitty sleeping in that thar cell sure as God made hickory sap. She's gonna be madder 'n herd of bison stirred up by bees when she wakes up. What fer ya gone and done that fer? Haven't ye got no sense a'tall?"

Doc rose to his feet. "WHAT? Festus, what are you talking about? Kitty isn't in jail, that's ridiculous!"

Matt held up a hand to stop the tirade. "Doc, Festus isn't crazy. Festus, I know it looks like Kitty, but it's not. The woman in that cell is named Micheline Buisson – she admitted that last night. Seems she's been pretending to be Kitty for almost a week now."

Festus groped for the chair beside the little table and fumbled his way into it. "She done tolt you...? Last night? What fer? Maybe she was funnin' ya?"

"'Fraid not. She's been passing herself off as Kitty. She emptied Kitty's bank accounts and I think she was planning on leaving on the morning stage."

"Well, whar's Miss Kitty then?"

"I don't know where she is, Festus." The bleakness of his tone convinced his deputy far more than anything else he'd said that morning. "I'm hoping that I can convince Miss Buisson to tell me more than she would last night."

"But, Matthew..." Festus began and then his voice trailed off.

Doc stood still and glared at the marshal. "Let me get this straight - Festus looks in there and says Kitty's in jail, but you say she looks like Kitty but it's somebody named Micheline something, and you don't know where Kitty is?"

Matt nodded wearily. Doc paused, taking in the distress and confusion on Festus' face. "Matt, are you sure? How do you **know** it isn't Kitty?"

"Uhh, Doc," a deep flush colored Matt's face. "I – I guess you know how things are with Kitty 'n me?" He paused and went on in a rush. "Last night – uhh, well, last night, we were – that is – well, you remember when Kitty got shot?"

Doc nodded shortly, his right knuckle scrubbing furiously at his mustache.

"Well, that is – y'see – there's no scar. And there used to be. And now – well, it's gone. Besides she admitted..."

"Matt, scars don't just magically go away – but, maybe in the dark..."

"I held a lamp up to her back – just in case."

Doc and Festus exchanged a long look. "You know, Matt, I'm not as surprised as... well, Festus and I have been noticing things about the way Kitty's been behaving. This girl looks like Kitty – but she sure doesn't act like Kitty – the way she's been dressing lately, and behaving in the saloon – I dunno, Matt, we been suspecting something wrong for a while."

"You never said anything to me."

"You acted like everything was all right – and if you didn't notice anything wrong, who were we to say something?"

"Yeah. Well. I – I thought… Hell." The big lawman stared at his hands. "Now the problem is to get her to tell me where Kitty is. She said that Kitty might be dead, but it might just have been talk. She wouldn't tell me more."

"Matthew..." Festus' face was scrunched in confusion. "What about that telegram, the one about Miss Kitty?"

Matt shook his head slightly. "Festus, what are you talking about? What telegram?"

Festus waved in the general direction of the telegraph office. "I went to see Barney on my way here, to check fer telegrams. Barney said there'd been nary a one, not since the one about Miss Kitty a few days back."

Matt was fully awake now. "I haven't seen any telegram. Must have come in just before I got back. Quint must have gotten it." Pushing back from the desk, he opened the drawer and started pulling out papers. After a moment he held one up. "By golly, this is it." He began to read. "To Matt Dillon, US Marshal, Dodge City, Kansas. Please confirm safe arrival Dodge City of Kitty Russell. STOP Request federal warrants on Micheline Buisson. State murder trial in one week. STOP Sheriff Dan Liebling, Great Bend Kansas."

The three men stared at each other for a moment as the reality of Kitty's probable situation sank in. Then Matt sprang up from the desk and began to gather what he would need for the trip. "Festus, I'm going to need you to wire Yellow Springs and Mission Ridge and have fresh horses waiting for me at each of those two relay stations. And send another wire to the sheriff in Great Bend - tell him I'm on my way to get Kitty."

"Sure thang, Matthew. I'll do that directly" Festus headed for the cell area. Soon as I take me another look at this shemale what's been bein' Kitty - Miss Buster. "

Matt continued gathering his belongings. "Buisson, Festus."

"Yeah. Bweester. Like I said. Mebbe she'll have more of a notion to talk, now that she's been coolin' her heels fer a spell."

A minute later, Festus was back. "She's up all right, and she says she has to talk to you, Matthew. Says it's urgent."

Dillon took a deep breath and stood. "All right."

Entering the cell area, he looked down at the woman who could be Kitty and said grimly, "You wanted to talk to me, Miss Buisson?"

"Look, Marshal, I know you think the worst of me – and I guess I can't expect anything different, but I don't want innocent people's death on my conscience." The woman looked tired and more than a little worn.

"No. Just Kitty's." He held up the telegram. "This says that 'you' are being tried for murder."

For a moment she looked confused. "What…? Oh." She hung her head. "That was an accident, I swear, Marshal. I had to get out of town – they were after me – I swear I killed that man in self-defense – he was coming after me – claimed I cheated him – I didn't know what the bartender told him… You've got to believe me. And then it seemed like providence when I saw her – could have been my twin… I figured she'd get out of it easily enough, once she didn't show up in Dodge. But then I had to come here, and... I only meant to stay overnight, take what I could and get out. I figured they'd realize..."

Seeing that her tale of woe was not getting her anywhere with the implacable lawman, she switched tactics. "But Marshal, listen. There's something you need to know." She bit her lip and went on rapidly. "There's going to be a bank robbery – I think this morning. Jay Mantley and his boys."

"Are you in with Mantley?" Dillon couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. He wouldn't have pegged her for an outlaw's lookout.

"No, no. But Shep Harlow was – and he liked to brag. He told me – all about it. He was drunk. Before he tried to…"

"This robbery…" he began, but was interrupted by a shout from the outer office.

"Matthew, come quick. Doc just seen three men a-going into the bank with kerchiefs over their faces."

"We'll talk about this later," Dillon warned the woman. She sank back on the bunk and watched his broad shoulders disappear. She wondered whether her sudden conversion to law-abiding, misunderstood, but basically decent, woman had been too abrupt. Dillon was shrewder than she had ever expected. Still, it was the only ploy left – now to see if it worked.

In the outer office, Dillon seized his gunbelt and strapped it around his hips as he dashed for the door. "Stay here, Doc. At least till the shooting's over. C'mon, Festus."

But the marshal and his deputy were only in time to take potshots at the fleeing robbers. Whatever money they had expected the bank to hold, the gang had been disappointed, managing to snag just over a thousand dollars in total. Neither Bodkin nor his clerk were badly injured, though the banker was spitting mad. "Where were you, Marshal Dillon? They walked in bold as brass. Seemed to think we were supposed to have gotten a gold shipment, but I told them they had gotten their days wrong – the payroll gold had come in and been picked up last week. One of them – the leader – hit me! He hit me. Me! With his fist." Bodkin gingerly touched his rapidly swelling split lip. "I want you to ride after them and capture them." He wagged his finger up at the lawman. "And I want to know if Kitty Russell knew something about this. She took her money out yesterday. That's mighty suspicious if you ask me."

Dillon stared at him coldly. "Kitty Russell knew nothing about any bank robbery here in Dodge. I can assure you of that. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll have Doc look you over while I ride after those outlaws."

"Oh. Er - yes. Yes, of course."

"I'll go down to the stables and get our horses, Matthew." Festus looked worried when Dillon rejoined him in the street. "How you gonna go after Miss Kitty and chase them bank robbers at the same time?"

"I'm going to go send those telegrams – especially to Liebling - catch that gang, and then ride after Kitty. Tell Burke and Quint that they're in charge till you get back. Burke's gonna have to keep an eye on the jail, so you better explain about our prisoner.

Dillon was as good as his word and within the half hour he and Festus were riding south out of town hot on the trail of Mantley's gang

**~~*~~*~~**

Quint leaned against the door frame of the marshal's office and looked sternly at the freight agent. "Remember, Burke, the woman in the cell is **not** Kitty Russell. Don't worry about anything she says, just keep her nice and secure."

"I'm not a baby, Quint and I'm not a fool. I can certainly tell the difference between Miss Kitty and some woman pretending to be her." Burke was drawn up to his full height.

Quint looked at him, shook his head. "I'm dead on my feet. I've got to get some sleep. Stay out here, Burke. Leave the woman alone. Don't ask her questions, don't inquire about her welfare, don't…" He rubbed his head. "She looks like Kitty, but she's not Kitty. Just keep repeating that to yourself. Okay?"

"Certainly." Burke wondered what on earth made Quint feel like he had to repeat himself. After all, Matt Dillon had entrusted Dodge to his care on many occasions.

As soon as the door closed behind the blacksmith, Burke immediately went to the door leading to the cells and began to investigate. The woman sitting on the cot shoved in the corner of the cell was leaning against the wall, her red cloak spread over her like a blanket. Burke started. This **was** Miss Kitty – had Quint made a mistake? Was this some game that the marshal was playing?

"Miss Kitty?" he said softly, and her eyes opened. Big blue eyes, just like…

She looked him over from head to toe and smiled. "Hello, Burke. Set you to watching me, have they?"

Burke started. This woman knew him. That meant she had to be Miss Kitty – didn't it?

"You look tired," he said.

She shrugged. "I am. Matt hauled me out of bed at some ungodly hour this morning, saying wild things about how I wasn't me. He dragged me over here at gun point, shoved me into this cell… What's going on, Burke? Please tell me. What has happened to Matt that he would treat me this way?"

"I don't know. But Quint told me…" he hesitated. "You're – that is – Quint said you weren't really Miss Kitty."

She sighed. "Look at me, Burke. Who do I look like to you? You sold me a stage ticket day before yesterday, remember?"

"Well, of course, you're Miss Kitty. I can't imagine what's got into them."

Burke visited her three times in the next two hours, each time becoming more convinced that some mistake had been made. For her part, Micheline was considering the best way to take advantage of this gift that Matt's absence had given her. The third time he made an appearance she began to weep.

"Now, now, Miss Kitty, please…" Burke had no idea what to do.

"You – you don't understand," she sobbed. "I – I depend on Matt, and somehow he's been tricked into believing crazy things about me, abandoned me in this awful cell …" she broke off, the tears coursing down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking.

"Now, now," Burke put his hands through the cell bars and patted her shoulders.

Immediately she threw herself against the bars and moaned, "Help me, Burke, please, please just put your arms around me… I feel so lost – so abandoned… Hold me…"

Tentatively, as if afraid she might burst into flames in his embrace, Burke's pats became heartier and then he slowly folded his arms around her shoulders. It only made her cry harder.

"What – what's wrong," he said, hastily releasing her and stepping back.

"N-n-nothing," she choked out. "These bars are just so cold. You are so comforting, but…" She stumbled back toward the cot, wavering from side to side. Just short of the edge, she made a low sound – a kind of groan and then slowly crumpled to the ground. Burke stared at her for a long moment and then he quickly scrambled out to get the keys to the cells. She hadn't moved while he was gone and he wasn't even sure she was breathing. He fumbled unlocking the cell door in his haste, but at last, it swung open and he rushed to her side. He knelt beside her and felt for her pulse. "Unn- uhnnn…" she moaned, fighting his hands as he tried to turn her over and then to lift her to the cot. As he raised her, she shifted her body to the right while her hands pulled his jacket down his sides, trapping his arms. Caught off-balance, Burke toppled over to the cot. She whipped his belt off and wrapped it around his hands, tying them firmly behind his back.

"I'm sorry, Burke, but cells give me the pip," she whispered, kissing him hard on the mouth, before stuffing his handkerchief into it and quickly running out of the cell. She locked it behind her and flung the keys on Matt's desk as she crossed the front room, running for the door. It flew open in front of her, and there stood Quint in the way of her escape. He caught her in one arm as she tried to duck around him.

"What did you do with Burke?"

She slumped in his arm. "You couldn't have been three minutes later, could you? Burke's fine. I locked him in the cell."

Quint held her firmly before him as he led the way back into the cells. When he saw Burke's predicament he burst out laughing. "I ought to leave you in there till Matt and Festus get back," he said. "Let them see you."

"Quint." Burke had spit out the handkerchief. "Quint, you wouldn't. Quint, you can't. Please, Quint. Quint…"


	7. Chapter 7

**Previously:**

"_I'm sorry, Burke, but cells give me the pip," she whispered, kissing him hard on the mouth, before stuffing his handkerchief into it and quickly running out of the cell. She locked it behind her and flung the keys on Matt's desk as she crossed the front room, running for the door. It flew open in front of her, and there stood Quint in the way of her escape. He caught her in one arm as she tried to duck around him._

"_What did you do with Burke?"_

_She slumped in his arm. "You couldn't have been three minutes later, could you? Burke's fine. I locked him in the cell."_

_Quint held her firmly before him as he led the way back into the cells. When he saw Burke's predicament he burst out laughing. "I ought to leave you in there till Matt and Festus get back," he said. "Let them see you."_

"_Quint." Burke had spit out the handkerchief. "Quint, you wouldn't. Quint, you can't. Please, Quint. Quint…"_

_**Ellsworth, KS, that morning**_

Napoleon Bonaparte Delamare – 'Del' to his friends and acquaintances – chewed on his cigar and stared at the judge's order one more time. It was no use – even if there was a loophole somewhere, he couldn't afford to antagonize Judge Murphy by arguing about it. He was stuck with the job of defending the thieving saloon whore who had killed the owner of the Lucky Lady. Trial was set for 2 p.m. over at the hotel, where the judge had been holding court for several hours already.

Sighing heavily, he picked up his hat and cane. It was already 11 a.m. Better get over to the jail and meet his client. While he had no illusions about the odds of winning the case, honor demanded that he at least provide a credible defense, and he might need to do some quick research before trial.

**~~*~~*~~**

"Good morning, Sheriff. I'm here to see your prisoner." Del closed the door behind him and doffed his bowler.

Sheriff N. P. Cathcart looked up from a stack of Wanted posters. "Mornin' Del. Heard you was ordered to defend the Buisson woman. M'deputy just brought her in on the stage from Great Bend." Cathcart rose and picked up the large iron keyring he'd left sprawled on his desk. Del followed him through the door into the cell area. As Cathcart unlocked the cell door, Del got his first look at the infamous murderess, who stood gracefully and smiled questioningly at the sheriff.

As he took in the sight of his new client, Del forgot to keep walking for a moment. His first thought was that the newspaper accounts had not nearly done her justice. He'd seen women with luxurious red hair like hers, and big blue eyes, full lips, creamy skin, hourglass figures... but somehow in this woman the sum was greater than the parts. Maybe it was the warmth of her smile, or the intelligence in her eyes, or her queenly bearing. Del just knew it had been a long time since he'd seen the like. Hard to believe she'd murdered a man in cold blood. But, he reminded himself, good looks and an evil heart often cohabited, and there was quite a strong case against this particular beauty.

Cathcart pushed a wooden chair into the cell and motioned for Del to enter. "This here's yer lawyer, Miss. Best to do as he says." Closing the cell door behind them, he left with the instruction to 'holler when yer done'.

Del turned to regard his client, and found her sizing him up. He offered her a friendly smile and a tip of his head. "Morning, ma'am. I'm Napoleon Delamare, and I've been assigned as defense counsel in your case. Trial is scheduled for 2 p.m. this afternoon, so we've not a lot of time to prepare. I'd like to start by having you go through the events in question, as you remember them. Everything you say is protected from disclosure, so you may feel safe to confide all. The more I know, the better I can assist in your defense."

Speech finished, Del motioned for his new client to sit back down, then he pulled the chair over opposite the cot so he could sit facing her. She regarded him with what he could only describe as a bemused expression, then looked down at her hands, sighing softly. Rather odd under the circumstances, he thought, but then you never knew how people would react in these sorts of extreme situations.

"Go ahead, ma'am," he prompted gently. "Tell me how it happened."

The woman exhaled purposefully, then looked him full in the face. "I'm afraid I can't, Mr. Delamare. Tell you what happened, that is."

"Truly, ma'am, you can," Del assured her. "I promise you everything you say will be kept in the strictest confidence!"

"No, you don't understand." Again he saw the slightly bemused expression. "You see, I can't tell you what happened because I don't know. I wasn't there." She smiled sympathetically at what he was sure was his bewildered expression. "I know that sounds like nonsense, but it's true." She expelled another lungful of air and straightened her back.

"I am **not** Micheline Buisson. My name is Kitty Russell, and I own the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City. It appears that I have something of a twin in this Buisson woman – I suspect she may be a relative, in fact. It was she who, as I understand from the newspaper account, stole from her employer at the Lucky Lady, and then killed him. What little I know about it comes from the _Examiner's_ fairly colorful account. I wish I could be more help, but I can't tell you what I don't know." She smiled wistfully and shrugged her shoulders slightly.

Del took a deep breath. He'd heard many a tale of innocence in his long career, but this one beat them all. And worse yet, he found himself inclined to believe it, even though he knew perfectly well that it must be humbug. He leaned forward. "Could you explain what you mean, ma'am? I'm not sure I understand."

The smile was rueful this time, the blue gaze sympathetic. "I know what it sounds like, Mr. Delamare, but it's true. I know you need more facts, but I just don't have them. Everything I know I learned from the newspaper account. What I can tell you is that I was traveling through Great Bend on my way home from a trip to St. Louis, and I made the mistake of spending the night in a hotel there. I woke up to find I'd been hit on the head and robbed of all my belongings. Then the sheriff in Great Bend showed up and arrested me, claiming I was this Buisson woman. I tried to explain, but he was having as much trouble believing me as you are."

Del sighed. This was not good. If this woman persisted in her story, there was not going to be much he could do for her. He tried again. "Miss Buisson, I'm not sure what you think it will accomplish to claim you are someone else, but I can assure you, it would be better for you to tell me all. I am pledged to work for your interests in this matter, and the more I know, the better job I can do for you."

His client looked down and shook her head again. Her voice was sad when she spoke. "Believe me, Mr. Delamare, I wish I could help you. I wish I knew what really happened in that saloon, but I don't. I know it seems ridiculous to you that I am claiming to be someone else, but unfortunately for both of us, it's the truth." She finally looked at him, and he thought he would never forget the poignancy of her gaze. "I know you will do your best for me, and I thank you for that. I haven't given up hope that someone from Dodge will find me before it's too late, but... but I know that may not happen."

Despite himself, Del found himself following her train of thought. "You say you know folks in Dodge, ma'am? Perhaps the sheriff could send a telegram?"

A short, bitter laugh was her first response. "My thought exactly. And do you know, the sheriff in Great Bend agreed to do it?"

"But then he didn't follow through?"

Another mirthless chuckle. "Oh no, he did. And he got a reply too. That I had arrived safely."

"Pardon me, ma'am?"

She shrugged slightly. "I can't explain it, but somehow whoever replied to the telegram thought I'd arrived home safely. The sheriff was pretty unhappy that I'd convinced him to bother a U.S. Marshal with the question, I assure you."

Del wondered how each new answer could just make him more confused. "A U.S. Marshal, ma'am?"

She sighed. "Marshal Matt Dillon. He's… a friend of mine, and I was sure he'd be wondering why I hadn't returned as scheduled."

Del nodded. Finally something he thought he understood. "Well perhaps your, ah, friend wasn't the one who received the telegram?"

She nodded. "I thought that might be. Even though he'd planned to meet my stage, he often gets called away. But no matter who got the telegram, by now somebody there should have realized I'm missing, and yet, not a word." She shook her head in bewilderment.

Del realized he'd let himself be completely drawn into the woman's story. She was an amazing actress, completely convincing. He could see how she'd talked the sheriff into sending the telegram. But it couldn't be true. This sort of thing didn't happen in real life. Hardly ever, anyway. And certainly not in Ellsworth, Kansas. He cleared his throat. He had to make a final effort, or the case would be lost before it began.

"Miss... Buisson." He felt an odd pang of guilt at the defeated look in her eyes. "I must beg you, if you wish to have any chance of escaping the hangman's noose, to tell me everything. It may be that some detail which seems of no consequence to you would give me a weapon with which to defend you. I cannot put you on the stand to claim you are someone else, and if you will not tell your side, the jury will hear only the prosecutor's tale, and will be sure to convict. Please, ma'am." He found himself oddly desperate, putting all the urgent persuasion he possessed into his plea.

But it was still for naught. She merely shook her head again, then stood in that graceful way he'd seen before. She extended a slender, well-manicured hand as Del rose to his feet in response. "I'm sorry, Mr. Delamare. Nothing would please me more than to be able to give you what you want. I can tell you're an excellent lawyer and I'm sure under normal circumstances I would stand a very good chance with you representing me. But I can't tell you about something I didn't see, and even if I wanted to try to make something up, I know so little of what happened that I'm sure the prosecutor would be able to trip me up somehow. You'll just have to do the best you can, and I will continue to hope that somehow I'll be rescued in time."

As he shook her hand, he found himself assuring her that he would do all in his power to save her. Del wondered that he wanted so much to believe her. His line of work brought him into the company of many a professional liar, and as a rule he was quick to doubt, but this woman was in a class by herself. Somehow he just couldn't shake the idea that she was telling the truth. He must be getting senile or something, he thought, giving himself a mental shake.

Turning away, he called out to the sheriff, who appeared a moment later.

"She give ya any trouble, Del?"

"Not a bit, thank you, Sheriff." He turned back to his client, who still stood, watching silently. Donning his bowler, he touched the brim politely. "I'll see you at court, ma'am. If you think of something you want to tell me before then, just ask the sheriff to send for me."

She merely nodded in reply. He knew he'd lost.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Ellsworth, KS, that afternoon**_

Del grimaced as the defendant was escorted into the makeshift courtroom, triggering a chorus of boos and catcalls. The Honorable Judge Oliver Murphy pounded his gavel until the noise in the room subsided.

Looking over at the jury, Del saw a wall of hostile faces. His heart was heavy. These men were just waiting for their chance to send his client to the noose. Turning to the somber redhead at his side, Del touched her lightly on the arm. She looked up at him standing beside her and he mouthed the question, did she want to talk? She simply shook her head no. Then Judge Murphy banged his gavel again and told the room to be seated. Sighing, Del settled in the worn wooden chair and straightened his papers. It was going to be a long afternoon.

The prosecutor, a compact fellow with dark hair and full whiskers and the improbable name of Theodore Beaverhausen, wasted no time in calling the bartender to testify. Clearly eager to avenge his employer, the man painted a most unflattering picture of a talented but unscrupulous woman who happily used her feminine wiles to separate men from their money, usually dishonestly. He described saloon owner Lem Prescott's infatuation with her, and opined that she had been happy to take advantage of it to obtain the choicest room and a larger cut of the action. He said that only a few weeks after she started, he'd begun to suspect she was taking even more than her generous share of her table's winnings, and eventually had shared this suspicion with his boss.

Though initially resistant to believing the charges against his paramour, Prescott had started to wonder himself, and finally on the fateful day, had gone up to her room to search it. The bartender had seen her come in soon after, and head up to her room. Then he'd heard shouting, and the sounds of a struggle, which ended abruptly with a gunshot. The woman had run out the back, leaving them to race up the stairs and find their boss lying in a pool of blood on the floor of her room. They found his gun a few feet away on the floor, and determined that it had just been fired. Lem was already dead, shot in the heart. They followed the woman's escape route out the back, but she'd had too much of a head start. They saw her gallop off on a stolen horse, a clean getaway.

The prosecutor took care to seal up the corners of the story, getting the bartender to state that no one else had gone up the stairs after the defendant, and no one else had been in the room with Lem before her arrival. Then he turned the witness over to defense counsel for cross-examination. Del did what he could, getting the man to admit that he hadn't seen the shooting, and thus only assumed that the defendant had done the killing, and that he couldn't swear it wasn't an accident, or self-inflicted.

In hopes of blunting the presumption of guilt that arose from her hasty departure, he tried to get the bartender to admit he might have been mistaken about the woman on the horse. Unfortunately, Del didn't know that Micheline had been wearing a bright green dress that day. The man insisted that the green dress and red hair on the fleeing woman couldn't have belonged to anyone else, and Del was quite sure the jury would agree. He did what he could to salvage the situation by leading the bartender to a grudging admission that sometimes even innocent people ran if they were afraid they'd not be believed by the authorities.

The prosecutor called a few more witnesses, who backed up the bartender's testimony on various points, including the relationship between Micheline and her boss, the appearance of the murder scene, and the fleeing woman. Del declined to cross-examine any of them, knowing that he couldn't do himself any good, and would just be emphasizing the importance of their testimony to the jury.

When the prosecution rested its case, it was Del's turn. He tried one final time to seek the cooperation of his client, but once again his whispered entreaty that she tell her side of the story met with a sad shake of her head. So he did the only thing he could do – he rested his case without calling a single witness. He would have to use his closing statement to argue for reasonable doubt. He wished he had any to share.

Sure enough, the jury stayed out only 15 minutes before trooping back in to deliver their verdict. Del noted unhappily that none of the men would meet his gaze, and when the verdict was read – guilty of murder in the second degree – he was not surprised. His client stiffened and Del could hear her brief intake of breath. After quieting the crowd again, the judge wasted no time in pronouncing judgment: she was to be hanged by the neck until dead, sentence to be carried out at dawn the next day, provided a gallows was ready by then. Del had his hand on her arm, and could feel the small shudder that passed through her at this pronouncement. He surprised himself by feeling sorry for her.

**~~*~~*~~**

Kitty sank onto the cot, unable even to respond to Sheriff Cathcart's quiet statement that he'd be back a little later before he went to get their dinner, and that she could ask for anything she wanted. When she heard the door to the cell area close, she let her head drop into her hands and abandoned the iron control she'd forced herself to maintain during the trial. As the warm tears rolled down her face, she tried to understand how this could have happened. How could she have an unknown twin? How could she end up jailed, and now tried and convicted, for someone else's crime? How could she have been here so long and not been rescued? Why hadn't Matt come for her?

That was the hardest thing to accept. No matter what, when she was in trouble he had always found her, always saved her. Except this time. This time he hadn't come. She refused to believe he didn't care, but somehow this time, he didn't know that she needed him, or he knew but he couldn't respond. That thought brought a fresh wave of tears, as she again considered the possibility that he had not come because he couldn't. Because he was hurt, or even dead. Like she would be, in a few hours. Dead, without any chance to say goodbye. No final embrace from the man she loved. No final words of parting for her dearest friend, Doc, or for sweet, loyal Sam, or Festus, or Bess Ronniger, or Louie.

She thought back to the last time she'd seen them. To the sight of Matt's handsome, melancholy face watching her stage pull away, her body still tingling from the sensation of his soft breath on her ear as he'd leaned down and whispered, "_Come back to me..."_ before he helped her into the stage.

He hadn't wanted her to go on the trip, worried about bandits that had been raiding through eastern Kansas. They'd had a small spat about it, and she'd insisted she was going, telling him he should come with her if he was so worried, but of course his job would not allow it. It never did. This time, though, he'd actually paused to contemplate the idea, which was sufficiently unusual that she'd almost lost her nerve and given in. How she wished now that she hadn't let her pride win the day. She could be back in Dodge right now, sitting at a corner table in the Long Branch, observing her customers and listening to Doc and Festus bickering happily over their beers.

Once he'd finished rounds, Matt would join them, and after a bit Doc would haul Festus off so she and Matt could have a bit of privacy to share news of their day. If Matt had prisoners, he'd be off to the jail for the night; if not, he'd usually head back there just long enough to lock up and take a final look around town before slipping up her back stairs and letting himself into her room. How she wished she could feel his arms around her, pressing her against his broad chest, his heartbeat strong and even under the rough material of one of those awful bugger red shirts he insisted on wearing.

She sniffed loudly. Right now she'd give anything to rub her cheek against one of those shirts. Or better yet, against the naked skin underneath. They'd made love the night before she'd left. Long, slow, tender loving that went on for hours, until they both finally surrendered to their need for rest. Now it seemed that was to be the last time she'd feel his body against hers, inside hers, alternately fierce and gentle, always honest and giving, like the man himself. Her man. Now and always, ring or no ring. His would be the last face she'd see in her mind's eye as the rope snapped her neck. His name the last sound on her lips. The knowledge of his love would give her the strength to face this final test.


	8. Chapter 8

**Previously:**

_Kitty sank onto the cot, unable even to respond to Sheriff Cathcart's quiet statement that he'd be back a little later before he went to get their dinner, and that she could ask for anything she wanted. When she heard the door to the cell area close, she let her head drop into her hands and abandoned the iron control she'd forced herself to maintain during the trial. As the warm tears rolled down her face, she tried to understand how this could have happened. How could she have an unknown twin? How could she end up jailed, and now tried and convicted, for someone else's crime? How could she have been here so long and not been rescued? Why hadn't Matt come for her? ..._

_... How she wished she could feel his arms around her, pressing her against his broad chest, his heartbeat strong and even under the rough material of one of those awful bugger red shirts he insisted on wearing. _

_She sniffed loudly. Right now she'd give anything to rub her cheek against one of those shirts. Or better yet, against the naked skin underneath. They'd made love the night before she'd left. Long, slow, tender loving that went on for hours, until they both finally surrendered to their need for rest. Now it seemed that was to be the last time she'd feel his body against hers, inside hers, alternately fierce and gentle, always honest and giving, like the man himself. Her man. Now and always, ring or no ring. His would be the last face she'd see in her mind's eye as the rope snapped her neck. His name the last sound on her lips. The knowledge of his love would give her the strength to face this final test. _

_**On the Trail, that day**_

As the miles dissolved beneath Buck's steadily beating hooves, Matt was lost in his thoughts. Why hadn't he paid more attention to the clues this Buisson woman had given them? He relied on his instincts to warn him when something wasn't right, but this time, when it concerned the most important person in his world, he'd brushed those warnings aside. How could he have let himself be fooled by an imposter, no matter how good? And if _he_ didn't know, how was he ever going to explain it to Kitty? Assuming he could even find her. Micheline's mocking words of the night before echoed in his ears, "_I'm telling you, Matt, that you should be happy with what you've got – a bird in hand, doncha know? Kitty – your Kitty – is probably dead. You should take what I can offer you. Nobody else has noticed. Nobody has to know. We could be good together – you and I – you know that." _

"_Forget it, Miss Buisson, I'm not interested. It's time you realized that you haven't got much to bargain with except Kitty's whereabouts."_

_She gave him a look of contempt and turned her back in the cell._

"Matthew. Matthew," Festus's voice finally penetrated his thoughts and he looked at his deputy, blinking at him. The day's bright sunlight had begun to fade into the violet tinges of the waning afternoon .

"What?"

"I think we purt near rode in on 'em." Festus was holding Buck's head and pointing just over the rise.

Matt could hear voices and he nodded at Festus, sliding quietly off Buck's saddle. He pulled his rifle from the scabbard and made a gesture at Festus who nodded and took both mounts off a short distance before dismounting and rejoining Dillon. By then, the marshal had circled left to a position above and behind the men, who were watering their horses and trying to estimate how far behind their pursuers might be.

Once Festus was in position, Dillon shouted "Hold it," and fired his rifle at the ground just beside Mantley's boot. "Drop your weapons," he ordered, and when one went to draw, shot him in the arm. The others exchanged glances and then, reluctantly, withdrew their guns, tossing them to the dirt.

Festus scrambled down, collected the weapons and held a gun on the three men, while Dillon searched their saddlebags and horses until he found Bodkin's money. "Here's the money they took. Let's get them mounted up and head back to Dodge."

Matt unlooped a rope from one of the outlaws mounts and tossed it to Festus so he could begin the process of securing them. He removed the rope from a second horse and joined his deputy. Festus frowned at him and asked, "Ye're comin all the way back to Dodge, fust? Are you gonna wait till it's light afore you go after Miss Kitty?"

"Nope, once we get them to Dodge, I'm heading right out after Kitty. Until I see her and talk to her… I can't take the chance that she might be... "

Mantley, whose hands Dillon had just pulled behind his back to secure, let out a bray of laughter. "S'matter, Dillon? Your whore run off on ya? That's the trouble with saloon sluts. Any man'll do in a pinch – not an ounce of loyalty in the bunch of 'em. Always lookin' for the next easy mark. And they're like dogs – always in heat and jumping with fleas."

"Shut your mouth, Mantley," Dillon jerked hard on the knot at Mantley's wrist.

"He-ey. Go easy there, Dillon. You don't want me writin' to the gov'nor about the way you're mistreating me, do ya? Say – just thought of somethin'. If yer woman's done with ya, think she might give me a ride? I hear she's pretty looksome."

"Matthew…" Festus began, but it was too late. Matt dropped the rope and whirled Mantley to face him. His fist connected hard with the man's nose, drawing blood. Howling in pain, Mantley was quick to return the punch. Even hampered as he was by the rope on his wrist, he managed to land a solid right to the lawman's stomach. But Dillon was just as quick – before Mantley could get his arm back up to protect his face, a left hook smashed into the outlaw's bloody face.

Suddenly the battle turned deadly as Mantley caught the rope on his wrist and whipped it around the bigger man's throat, taking him to the ground. Immediately Mantley scrambled on top of the fallen marshal and began pummeling his face and chest. By now, the other two men were yelling loudly, cheering their leader on, and trying to get out of their own knots. Feeling himself starting to lose the edges of his consciousness from the constriction on his throat, Dillon gave a mighty heave and managed to thrust Mantley off. He then reversed the situation, rolling on top of the other man.

Seeing that Matt had his man pinned, Festus fired three shots into the air and roared. "Quiet!" The two bound outlaws shut up and stared at the scruffy deputy. Matt managed to disentangle himself from the rope and haul Mantley to his feet. As he resumed tying up his prisoner, he gasped out, "Now you can send that letter to the President, Mantley, and skip the governor."

The other man snarled, but the blood running down his face seemed to have taken with it his enthusiasm for baiting the big lawman. After they put the prisoners on their horses and secured them, Festus said "Uhh, Matthew? You want I should go get our horses and bring 'em down here?" Dillon nodded, still breathing hard from the fight.

"I'll fetch 'em quick as you can say 'rat- run-over-the-roof-with-a-piece-of–raw-liver-in-his-mouth! You be all right whilst I'm gone?"

Dillon smiled slightly and nodded. "Yeah. Uhh – Festus – thanks."

"Shore thing, Matthew."

As they mounted up, Festus offered, "If'n you want to go on ahead, I reckon I can handle these three yahoos, Matthew. It's gonna be a long cold ride t'otherwise. And I think the fight has gone out of them."

Dillon looked at him for a moment, considering it, but shook his head decisively. "Nope. Three against one isn't very good odds, Festus, even if they are roped together. We'll get them to Dodge and then I'm changing horses and heading straight out." Unspoken was his lifelong habit of putting duty first. Festus sighed, but accepted Dillon's decision.

Turning to the grumbling prisoners, Festus warned loudly, "Ya brought this on yer ownselves an' I don' wanna hear another sound outta ya. You slow us down even the leetlest bit and I'm gonna be on you like ugly on a' ape. Clear?" Casting glances at their bloody and dazed leader, the men nodded.

Festus and Matt wasted little time spurring their mounts and leading the prisoners out of the impromptu camp. They headed north east at full speed, leaving a trail of dust behind.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Ellsworth, KS ~ that evening**_

Kitty lay on her cot, staring out the small high window at the back of the jail. A rising moon, just past full, shone brightly through the iron bars. She found it hard to comprehend that this would be the last moon she'd ever see. So many times she'd lain in bed, staring out her window at the night sky and wondering if Matt, out on the trail who knew where, was gazing up at it too. _Where was he tonight?_, she wondered. The intense ache in her heart when she thought of him was almost more than she could bear. Picturing his rugged, smiling face, she silently sent him a kiss goodbye.

The sound of the jail's front door opening and closing interrupted her reverie. The minister must have arrived. The sheriff had told her she'd be receiving a visit from the local pastor, so she could 'make her peace'. Lacking the energy to explain he needn't bother, she'd been expecting his arrival. She sat up and straightened her hair and clothes. She knew she probably looked a sight, but old habits died hard, and Kitty Russell always liked to look her best.

The Reverend Mr. Joshua Golden was a fit, middle-aged man with thinning blonde hair and soft brown eyes. His smile was friendly and sympathetic, and his handshake firm. Once the sheriff had lit the lamp that hung from a hook on the wall outside the cells, he left them alone, and Reverend Golden beckoned her to sit. Like her lawyer, he seated himself opposite her in the extra chair, and started with reassurance and a question.

"I know this is a difficult time for you, my child, and I want you to know I am here to provide spiritual counsel, not to judge you. Anything you say will be between you and me alone. So tell me, how can I help you?"

Kitty smiled back at his gentle face, and realized that there was something he could do for her. "Thank you for coming, Reverend Golden. I'm not really in need of spiritual counsel, but there is something I think you could help me with that would ease my spirit greatly."

He leaned forward, a questioning look on his face. "Of course, my child, if I can. How can I help?"

Kitty paused for a moment, wondering how much to explain. "If I am to hang in the morning, there are several people who are very... dear to me, that I won't be able to tell goodbye. I'd like to write a few final letters, and would ask you to see that they are delivered. I believe the sheriff has the necessary supplies in his desk."

"Of course, I'd be glad to help you with that. Let me summon the sheriff."

At the Reverend's call, Cathcart appeared immediately, relaxing when he saw there was no trouble. "What can I do for you, Reverend?"

"The prisoner would like to compose a few farewell letters. Could you bring us writing supplies, please?"

An odd look crossed Cathcart's face. "Write letters?" His tone was puzzled.

"Yes, it's not an unusual request from a condemned prisoner." The pastor smiled encouragingly.

Cathcart shook his head slowly. "Not if they can write, no."

"Well, there you go then. Could you bring us the supplies, please?"

Cathcart just nodded and backed out the doorway, returning a minute later with pen, inkwell, paper and blotter. The other extra chair was dragged into the cell to be a writing surface. Kitty quickly arranged the supplies on her makeshift desk. She decided to start with the letter to Doc and Festus.

Writing with the quick assurance of one who kept daily records, she addressed the letter to her two closest friends, telling them how much they meant to her, and asking them to take care of each other, and especially to help take care of Matt now that she couldn't be there to do it. Writing those words finally overcame her control, and she had to stop to wipe away several mutinous tears escaping down her cheeks. When she'd regained control, she reminded them one final time that they would always be in her heart, then signed the letter, _Your loving friend, Kitty Russell_. Blotting and folding the paper, she tucked it in an envelope and addressed it to _Doctor G. Adams, Dodge City, Kansas_.

Taking a cleansing breath, she quickly penned a letter to Sam, thanking him for his years of faithful friendship, and telling him that with her death he became half-owner and managing partner of the Long Branch, the other half going to Matt. As she had in the first letter, she asked him to watch over the grieving lawman, knowing as she wrote the words that they were unnecessary. Sam's loyalty to Matt was second only to his loyalty to her.

Those letters done, she steeled herself for the hardest one of all. Matt. The depth of what they were to each other went beyond words, but still there were things she needed to say. Dipping her pen, she began.

_Dearest Matt,_

_As I write this, it appears certain that I will go to my grave without the chance to say goodbye. That will be my only regret from our years together. Please believe that I know what's in your heart, Cowboy, because it matches what's in mine. I had hoped we'd have more time together, but I am satisfied that no woman could wish for more happiness than I have known with you. _

_Please, Matt, I know you must grieve, but don't stop living. Take care of Doc for me, and Festus, and most of all, yourself. And Matt, I know you are going to object at first, but please trust me and accept the gift I have left you. Mr. Bodkin has my Will, which leaves equal shares of the Long Branch to you and Sam. He's to manage it, so you needn't worry about that. Please honor my wishes in this. It's important to me to know that if you ever want or need to give up the badge, you will be able to do so and still live a decent life. Knowing how stubborn you are, I have set up the bequest so that unless you agree, Sam will lose his share as well. Some things are too important to leave to chance._

_But I know you won't let me down, because you never have. I'm not sure what has kept you from finding me this time, but please believe that I know you would come to me if you could. I forgive you, Matt, and you must forgive yourself, for my sake if not your own. _

_I love you, Cowboy, now and forever -_

_Kitty_

As she signed her name, Kitty realized that tears were rolling down her cheeks. Brushing them away with her sleeve, she blotted the letter, slipped it in an envelope, and dipped her pen a final time. She took a deep breath to steady her hand before she addressed the letter to _Matthew J. Dillon, U.S. Marshal, Dodge City, Kansas_.

She looked up to find not only Reverend Golden but Sheriff Cathcart watching her, the minister with sadness, and the lawman with confusion. She wondered what could be so unexpected about writing farewell letters on the eve of one's execution. The thought of what the morning held brought a small shudder of fear. Best to focus on the here and now. Smiling into the Reverend's kind eyes, she handed him the three envelopes.

"I would be very grateful if you could see that these are delivered after... my death."

Golden nodded his assent and looked down at the envelopes. She saw his eyebrows rise as he read the Dodge City addresses, but he said nothing, only tucking them into his coat pocket and trying one more time..

"Are you sure I can't be of service to you in some other way?"

Kitty smiled and gently shook her head. "Writing those letters has given me the peace I need, thank you Reverend." She rose and shook his hand. Reluctantly, he allowed Cathcart to usher him out.

Feeling drained, Kitty lay back down on the lumpy cot. She knew she wouldn't sleep, so she cast her mind back, wanting to revisit happier times. Where to start was easy. She could still picture the cold, rainy morning when she first saw Dodge, still remember how her breath caught when the biggest cowboy she'd ever seen strolled into Delmonico's and stole her heart...

_**~~*~~*~~**_

_**On the trail, that night**_

The hours between Dodge and Great Bend passed in a blur of dust, sagebrush, and cold prairie air. Dillon changed horses two times on his long ride, the first time at a relay station called Yellow Springs. The station master there tried to persuade him to stay, predicting a fierce storm blowing out of the north before the night was over. "Best you overnight here and go on in the morning, Marshal. Easy to get lost out there in the Great Empty when the snow is flying."

But by then, Matt felt an almost overwhelming sense of urgency, and he merely shook his head. "Sorry. Gotta go on. Look after m'horse. He's had a long run today." With that he vaulted back into his saddle and rode hell bent for leather, leaving the station master shaking his head.

"Crazy man."

He wasn't wrong though. It began snowing lightly shortly afterwards. Matt merely pulled his scarf up over his mouth and pushed on. He watered the horse once, but elected not to stop long enough to light a fire and eat a hot meal, merely pulling a long strip of jerky from his saddle bag and gnawing on it as he rode. The night grew colder and the snow heavier the further east he rode. When he arrived at the second way station, where he had wired to be sure that a horse would be waiting, the station master appeared still pulling his pants on over his long johns in response to Dillon's fist beating on the door.

"Gave you up two hours ago. Figured you'd be by in the morning. You can sleep in the front room by the fire."

Dillon warmed his hands over the fire and accepted a cup of coffee while his coat steamed. He took a deep breath and said, "which horse is it that you're giving me?"

"That sorrel in the corral. But surely, you're going to wait till morning to ride out."

"No time. Tomorrow's too late." In less than fifteen minutes he had saddled the new horse and was a distant blur against the snowy horizon.

"Guess he's lucky there's a moon," the man muttered, returning to his cozy cabin, and once more shucking his pants.

Dillon was thinking the same thing as he rode. They weren't making the progress he would have liked. The snow was up to his horse's hocks in spots. Once he even had to get off and lead the animal through a particularly high drift. However, about three in the morning the snow stopped, the road cleared, and his mount began to pick up speed.

An hour later he loped into Great Bend and headed directly for the sheriff's office in the center of town. The jailhouse was much like his own, and a man whose badge identified him as the sheriff was sleeping on a cot in the corner. Dillon shoved the jailhouse door closed with a bang, waking him.

"Where's Kitty Russell? I want to see her."

"Who are you?" The sheriff sat up, rubbing his eyes. He glanced at the darkness beyond the jail windows. "Hell, it's still the middle of the night."

"I'm Matt Dillon. U.S. Marshal out of Dodge. "Sorry to wake you, but I need to see Kitty Russell immediately. I've been in the saddle for some time. I sent a telegram."

"I ain't checked for telegrams since yesterday morning. But if you mean the Buisson woman what claims she's this Kitty Russell, ya got more riding to do. They moved her to Ellsworth yesterday mornin' – that's where the killing was – for the trial and the hanging."

"She **is** Kitty Russell. I've got the Buisson woman locked up in my jail. Now, which way is fastest to Ellsworth?"

Liebling straightened up and swore, seeing the truth in the other man's eyes. "Dammit."

Matt had no time for the sheriff's surprise. "Which way?"

Liebling stood and pointed. "North. Straight out along the road that runs through town. 'Bout forty miles."

"Where can I change horses?"

"Holyrood's 'bout the best. The corral's right along the road. I'll wire him and tell him you'll be by."

"Thanks."

Dillon turned, tugging his Stetson back in place, and threw himself through the door. Wincing, he limped to the hitching rail and hoisted himself back into the saddle, immediately lashing the big horse into a frantic gallop.

Holyrood, when he reached it, barely qualified as a village. A single lantern hung from the livery signpost. He smelled the corral before he reached it. When he slid to a halt and threw himself off the sorrel, it was blowing hard and clearly feeling ill-used.

"You the fellow Sherriff Liebling wired me about?" A shadow detached itself from the entry to the barn.

"Yeah. I need the biggest horse you got. Good speed too."

"Yeah. Well, it looks like you don't have much to leave by way of payment." The man scowled at Dillon's horse.

Dillon didn't answer. Instead he looked over the horses who had been turned out. A large pale shape stood at the far side. "He'll do. The palomino. You wanna catch him?"

"Ain't said I was gonna let you have a horse a'tall, let alone my best one."

Dillon shook his head. He didn't have time for this. Even now he could feel the noose tightening on Kitty's neck. "Look. I'm a U.S. Marshal." He displayed his badge. "Either you let me take that horse, or I knock you out and take it. Choice is yours, but I'm leaving this town in five minutes either way."

Grumbling, the man stomped across the pasture and slipped a rope over the horse's head. As he led it back toward Dillon, the tall lawman stripped his gear from the sorrel and without even pausing slung it straight onto the big horse's back. Cinching the girth, he caught up the reins. "Thanks. You'll have him back in a day or so."

"What are you in such an all-fired hurry for? Hanging's not till full light. Don't think they need another lawman there anyway. Cathcart can handle it just fine."

"I'm not going **to** the hanging, I'm going to stop it," Dillon called over his shoulder as he spurred the palomino to a gallop.

"Hell, man, you'll spoil all the fun."


	9. Chapter 9

**Previously:**

_Dillon shook his head. He didn't have time for this. Even now he could feel the noose tightening on Kitty's neck. "Look. I'm a U.S. Marshal." He displayed his badge. "Either you let me take that horse, or I knock you out and take it. Choice is yours, but I'm leaving this town in five minutes either way."_

_Grumbling, the man stomped across the pasture and slipped a rope over the horse's head. As he led it back toward Dillon, the tall lawman stripped his gear from the sorrel and without even pausing slung it straight onto the big horse's back. Cinching the girth, he caught up the reins. "Thanks. You'll have him back in a day or so."_

"_What are you in such an all-fired hurry for? Hanging's not till full light. Don't think they need another lawman there anyway. Cathcart can handle it just fine."_

"_I'm not going __**to**__ the hanging, I'm going to stop it," Dillon called over his shoulder as he spurred the palomino to a gallop._

"_Hell, man, you'll spoil all the fun."_

_**Ellsworth, KS ~ dawn**_

"It's time." The cold cruel voice of Cage Prescott woke Kitty. She hadn't really been asleep, just lying on the cot with her back to the bars, thinking about Matt. She was worried about him – afraid that even now he was gravely injured – perhaps even dead. She could think of no other excuse – no other reason why he hadn't come for her. The only explanation that she could fathom was that he didn't know – and the only way he couldn't know was if he was so badly hurt himself that… She couldn't think about it.

She had resigned herself to what was to come – accepted that she would hang, that fate was playing a cosmic joke on her.

"It's time," Cage Prescott said again. This time there was no mistaking the sly gloating pleasure he had in saying it. "Time for you to hang. Sheriff Cathcart's a-waiting for us by the gallows."

She stood, and prayed her legs would hold her. She shook out her skirts and straightened her shoulders. "Let's go."

He unlocked the cell door and opened it wide. Then he stood in the center so that there was no way she could pass by without brushing up against him. So Kitty stepped back and waited.

"Come on," he said roughly, reaching for her arm. In doing so he moved over and she slipped past him. "Bitch," he growled, pushing her forward. In the outer office, he gestured at the cup on the table. "Want some coffee?"

"The condemned prisoner enjoyed a hearty breakfast," Kitty said with a hollow laugh. "No thanks."

"Hmmmph," he muttered, picking up the cup and spitting into it. Then he gave her a nasty little grin. "Too bad."

Kitty felt her stomach heave and was unable to keep a look of revulsion from her face. Casually he backhanded her. "Bitch," he repeated. Kitty caught herself on the back of the chair and headed for the door. "Awful eager for that rope, ain'tcha?"

"Even the hangman is preferable to spending any more time with the likes of you," she spat out and watched his eyes blaze with anger. She wrenched open the door and stepped through it. At the hush that fell over the gathered crowd, she almost stepped back inside, but Prescott was there, his pistol at the ready.

"Okay, bitch, the hangman it is," he whispered for her alone to hear, and began to lead her down the dirt street to where the gallows had been erected. They were high, so high, and the rising sun cast long shadows across their path. Kitty's head buzzed and her stomach curled against her spine. She could hear a sibilant hiss as she passed some of the women in the street. "Murderess," one spat out. "Whore," another muttered under her breath. She stumbled over a rock in the street and Prescott pulled her up, his thick fingers grasping painfully at her breast and twisting as he did so.

She gasped and glanced up. The gallows rose stark against the lightening horizon and the hangman stood on the top platform, his rope ready to drop over her neck. In the distance a horse's hooves ate up ground, but the rider was still too far away to make out. _Someone's afraid all the excitement will be over before he gets here_, Kitty thought drearily as she walked slowly forward. She stumbled again, and again Prescott took the opportunity to roughly grab her breast. This time though, she heard – the whole crowd heard – an inarticulate roar of outrage. Her head snapped up and she stared at the approaching rider.

"Matt," Kitty gasped aloud. He looked like vengeance riding full-tilt out of the rising sun. Half-standing in his stirrups, rifle in the crook of his arm, he was dust-pale fury on a dust-pale horse. Some of those who had been urging the jailer to hurry her forward fell silent and stepped away from the big wooden structure as if to distance themselves from the hanging at this last possible moment_._

Kitty wanted to laugh and cry and be sick all at the same moment. Instead she stood very, very still. Prescott tugged on her arm as if to urge her up the steps. She paid no attention, her eyes fastened on Matt and the large golden horse he was riding – riding straight in, galloping directly for the gallows as if he meant to stop the hanging by sheer physical force.

He skidded the horse to a standstill, just in front of the gallows, blocking the steps and raising a cloud of dust that took nearly a minute to clear. He had unbuttoned his coat so that the marshal's star pinned on his chest gleamed in the breaking light. His Colt, a matching metallic gleam, held tightly in his hand, pointed directly at the man who still held Kitty's arm. "Let Miss Russell go," he ordered.

"Matt." _Was this real? _She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, he was still there, still seated on his heaving mount. "Oh, Matt," she gasped weakly.

"Kitty, come over here and stand beside my horse."

She wrenched her arm free of Prescott's grasp. As she got closer, Matt could see the exhaustion in her eyes and the pallor of her skin. "Cutting it a little close, this time, weren't you, Cowboy?" she murmured under her breath.

"Doing my best, honey, doing my best."

"Dammit, this woman has been lawfully sentenced to hang," Cage Prescott protested.

"Sentenced to hang, I have no doubt, but lawfully – no. This woman is Kitty Russell, a respected business owner from Dodge City. I have Micheline Buisson in my jail, back there."

Cathcart stepped forward and put his hand on his deputy's shoulder. "Easy, Cage, easy. He's a U.S. Marshal. You haven't got a choice."

"That's right. I am a U.S. Marshal and I'm taking this woman into custody until the whole matter is straightened out." Dillon dismounted, looming over the jailer. "You can go home now. There isn't going to be any hanging this morning."

"Yeah," Prescott said belligerently. "Well, she shot my brother and I want…"

"What you want doesn't matter. Micheline Buisson will stand trial for her crimes in due course." Dillon frowned at him.

"Well, where ya gonna hold her?" He looked avidly at Kitty. Matt didn't miss the glance.

"We're going back to Great Bend. She'll be in my personal custody, till I get hold of the judge and straighten this out. Don't worry, mister, I don't plan to let her out of my sight."

The crowd had already begun to dissipate, grumbling, and after a long stare, Prescott turned on his heel and walked away calling, "Okay, Herman, you can forget about it today."

"Am I gonna get paid?"

"Hell, no. You get paid if you hang 'em. If I paid you every time I thought about hangin' somebody…"

Soon Matt and Kitty stood by themselves in front of the gallows. "D'you mind waiting a minute or two while I rent a buggy to get us back to Great Bend?"

"I'm going with you." She shivered in the chill morning air, and he pulled off his coat and draped it around her shoulders.

Twenty minutes later they were heading south toward Great Bend. Kitty was wrapped in the extra blanket he had persuaded the livery owner to lend them and his arm was around her. He bent over and kissed her forehead. "You warm enough?"

"Un-hunh." She was already half-asleep, tucked up against his warmth.

"Does Great Bend have a hotel?"

"Not much of a one. My mistake was staying in it."

"This time I'll be with you." She settled against him, feeling his hard body under his coat and relishing his nearness as he tightened his arm around her. They said almost nothing on the ride back, and Matt was grateful that he could postpone his explanations until sometime in the future. By then he hoped he'd have thought of a way to explain everything to her.

At the hotel he discovered that word had already arrived in Great Bend. The clerk handed him two keys and smirked knowingly as he announced, "Adjoining rooms. Sign in, please."

Dillon nodded, said, "Send up a bath to Miss Russell's room, please. And we'll want something to eat in about ten minutes. Two steaks, fried potatoes, applesauce, green beans and biscuits. And apple pie."

The clerk nodded agreeably, but once they had begun to climb the stairs, shook his head.

Once inside their rooms, Kitty and Matt stood in the middle of the floor and looked at each other. Matt's eyes were red-rimmed with lack of sleep, and he was covered with dust, solidified into a layer of drying mud by the snow that had melted on his clothing. He looked exhausted and haunted and Kitty thought she'd never seen a better sight. Kitty was shivering, and she'd been wearing the same dress for days. She looked as if she'd been doing her hair without a comb or mirror, and her pallor was alarming to him because the bruises on her shoulders and neck stood out so starkly.

"Did they beat you?"

"Hmmm?" She frowned, then realized he was looking at her skin. "Oh. Some of that will wash off." She reached out to touch him. "You look like you haven't slept in weeks, Matt. What happened?"

"I'm so sorry, Kitty. I should have been here days ago. I – I…" His voice trailed off and before he could say more, there was a knock at the door.

"Food," Matt said, and Kitty said, "Liebling," at the same time.

He gave her a strange look, but opened the door. The sheriff of Great Bend stood just outside.

"Got her in handcuffs?" he asked dryly, strolling inside.

"Haven't had the time."

"Advise it. Mighty slippery customer." A wry smile crossed his face and quickly disappeared.

A second knock came to the door and the clerk brought in a small table and three dinners. "Hope you don't mind," Liebling said easily. "Thought I'd have my dinner with the two of you."

Matt and Kitty exchanged puzzled looks, then Matt shrugged and nodded. "Sure."

"Looks a lot like Kitty, does she?" Liebling mumbled as he chewed on his third bite of steak.

"Like a twin sister," Dillon said readily. "Although I suspect that if we stood them side by side the differences would be more apparent. And she's older than Kitty is, I think."

"Sorry, I didn't believe you," Liebling turned toward Kitty. "But the description was so specific and fit you so well – and then after I heard from Dodge that 'Kitty Russell' had arrived safely… well," he shrugged. "But I am sorry you had to go through…" he broke off and made a gesture.

Kitty nodded at him, acknowledging his apology. She looked steadily at Dillon. "Looked like my twin sister, did she?"

"Mmm-hmmmm," Dillon said, chewing steadily and trying not to look at her.

"How did you know, then, Marshal? I'm curious," Liebling asked.

"Scar," Dillon mumbled around a mouthful of potatoes and both of them looked at him sharply.

A look passed between Kitty and Matt – a look that did not bode well for his future – and he sighed. She spoke. "I have a scar on my – my shoulder. I'm guessing she wore a dress that revealed it – or rather that did not."

Dillon nodded, and Liebling lifted his eyebrow. "Must have been some dress."

"Do you remember that green one – with the orange trim?" Matt said quickly.

"You hate that dress. I thought I got rid of it last year."

"Nope. She found it and wore it."

"Oh. Well, that explains it." She grinned at Liebling. "You'd love it. Very low-cut and off-the-shoulder. I always had to paint my scar when I wore it."

"Does sound like my kind of dress. Kitty." he added deliberately. He stood and folded his napkin. "Well, I'll be on my way. I imagine you two have some catching up to do. Marshal, a word first, if you don't mind." He gestured toward the door and the two men left the room.

"Judge Murphy will be back tomorrow afternoon on his circuit. You'll have to talk to him to get his verdict against her vacated, but he should be reasonable. Till then, she can't appear in public without your escort." He peered at Dillon. "You're absolutely sure this is Kitty Russell?"

"Yes." Dillon straightened. He was tired, but he wanted no misunderstandings.

Liebling nodded. "Night, then."

"Wait." Dillon hesitated. "I – I need to get her some things. A brush, and a dress and…"

"Yes, of course." Any lingering doubts about either the redhead's identity or her relationship to the tall lawman disappeared. "Mrs. Emmett runs the general store. Just step next door and have a word with her. She'll be able to fix you right up. Do you want me to stay up here and stand guard?"

Dillon started to shake his head, but then a picture of the lecherous look in the eyes of her jailer in Ellsworth cropped up and he nodded slowly. "Might as well. Keep people out as well as her in," he added enigmatically. "Won't be long."

In less than half an hour, Dillon was back with a large paper-wrapped parcel and a harassed expression. Liebling rose from the chair he'd parked outside Kitty's door. "Mrs. Emmett give you a hard time?"

"Middlin'. Night."

"Night."

He could hear Kitty in the tub when he entered, so he merely laid out the simple chemise he'd bought. It could serve as either a shift or a nightgown and he hoped she didn't mind wearing it as both. Not that he wanted her to wear a nightgown at all, but he knew he wasn't out of the woods on that scar business yet. He added the comb and brush to the bed beside the shift and hung the dress he'd gotten her in the wardrobe.

About ten minutes later, Kitty emerged from behind the screen and stopped. She'd been dreading putting on her dirty clothing again, but saw no help for it – and here, Matt had found something else for her to wear.

In short order she was dressed in the chemise and the simple blue gingham dress he'd found. She knocked on the communicating door. "Matt, do you want a bath?"

"Could use one," he said, opening the door. Her hair was still wet and she smiled at him.

"It's still hot and I saved you a towel."

When he emerged, wearing the clean long johns he'd gotten with her clothing, she was reading the paper and the account it had of her trial.

"Tell me about Micheline Buisson," she said quietly. He noticed that she pronounced the name as the woman had.

"Well," he hesitated. "She – she does look an awful lot like you, Kitty. She really does."

"Okay." She waited.

After a moment he began to squirm. "Uhhh – she really, really looks like you."

She nodded and laughed briefly. "Matt. I get that she looks like me. Does she act like me, talk like me, behave like me…" She hesitated and then went on quietly, "…make love like me?"

"Kitty – we never… I never…"

"Matt, that scar isn't on my shoulder."

He sighed and then he told her the whole story, making no attempt to hide or cover up how far he had taken his relationship with Micheline. When he was done, he looked at her and said, "Kitty, if you're – you're through with me – I'll – I'll understand, but truly I thought she was you and – and when I didn't, I…"

"You arrested her, Matt. I understand." Briefly she reached out and stroked his cheek. "You look tired enough to fall over, Cowboy. We can talk about this later. How about we get a little sleep now?"

Matt sighed, expecting Kitty to leave him for the quiet of her own room. Instead she looked directly at him.

"Matt, I've never been so glad to see anybody as I was when you came riding in – exactly like a knight on a white horse. I want to sleep in your arms tonight. Just to fall asleep with your arms around me. Is – Is that all right with you?"

In answer, he simply pulled her to him and kissed her – a long and lingering kiss that told her how much he had missed her and how much he, too, wanted her back in his arms again.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**The Long Branch Saloon ~ Ten Days Later**_

Tom Ford poured his drink down his throat, stood from the poker table, and said, "Deal me out a hand, boys. I see a lady I need to talk to." He moseyed over to the bar, slid his hand around Kitty Russell's waist and pulled her close enough to leer down at her. "Didja miss me, Kitty? I shore as heck missed you. I heard tell that Dillon is out of town for the next coupla days and I thought maybe we could pick up where we left off. Whattaya say?" He planted a long sloppy kiss on the side of her neck.

Kitty deftly twisted out of his embrace and picked up the glass of whiskey she'd been drinking. "I think you need another drink, Tom. Here. It's on the house." She tossed it full in his face and stepped away from the bar.

Ford reared back, ready to belt her and found himself looking down the barrel of Sam's old shotgun. Instead he laughed. "Can't blame a man for trying, now can you? Guess them stories Burke's been spreading 'bout there being two Miss Kittys are true after all. Damn. Just my luck." Wiping his face, he went back to his poker game, where he was greeted with loud guffaws.

Kitty joined Festus, Quint and Doc at their table in the back. "I guess I'll be living down that hussy's reputation for quite some time," she said with a sigh as she dropped into the chair that Quint pushed out for her.

"She really did look like you, Kitty."

"That's what Matt said," she replied dryly, signaling Sam to bring her a drink. "Several times."

"Was she some relation to you?" Quint finally asked the question they had all wondered about.

"I – I had an aunt who married a French trader. They were supposed to be living in St. Louis, but with the War and all, my mother lost track of her. She was older than my mother, and had a couple of children, so Micheline is probably my first cousin. I don't really know. Guess I never will, now. I never got the chance to talk to her. Matt headed back to Ellsworth with her just as soon as he'd handed me off to Sam."

"Matt took her away before you could meet her, did he?" Quint asked with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Wonder why?"

Kitty laughed. "He'd never admit it, but I think he _was_ a little worried about what might happen if I got my hands on the little tramp – stealing my money and my clothes and my…" she broke off before she could finish the sentence. She winked at Doc, raising her glass. "And he might have been right, too."

Doc smirked and shook his head. "Matt always takes good care of his prisoners."

Kitty gave him a speaking look. Quint snorted and quickly took a swallow of his beer.

"D'ya think they'll hang her?" Festus asked.

"Oh hush up!" Doc growled. "We'll find out soon enough." Doc's expression had grown serious. With Matt out of town, he'd been keeping a close eye on his favorite redhead, and he wasn't convinced that Kitty had fully recovered from her own near-hanging.

Kitty frowned thoughtfully, twirling the whiskey glass between her fingers. "I – Well, they were eager enough to hang me, but Matt said that she claimed she shot that man in self-defense. That didn't come out at my trial, but I didn't know enough to even bring it up. I guess we'll know when he gets back."

"When do you reckon he'll be back, Miss Kitty?" Festus subtly pushed his empty beer mug around in a little circle.

"Maybe tomorrow, if... if they hung her. If he had to take her on to the women's prison in Lawrence, he might not be back for another week." She looked despondent and Doc patted her arm.

She knew Matt was still feeling an enormous weight of guilt for her imprisonment and near-hanging. She felt an almost desperate need to talk to him and straighten out the tangle that Micheline had created, but there was nothing she could do with him two hundred miles away. The presence of other passengers on the stage back to Dodge had deprived them of any opportunity to discuss what had happened, and then as soon as he had her home he'd left again.

She looked at Festus's empty glass. "How 'bout another round, boys – on the house, of course."

"Spare a glass for a thirsty lawman?" Matt's deep voice sounded in her ear as he came up behind her and settled into a chair next to hers.

"Matt! You're back!" It was all Kitty could do not to throw her arms around him.

"Marshal," Quint exclaimed, as Doc muttered, "'Bout time you got back to Dodge."

Matt nodded at the men and then turned back to Kitty. "I wanted to come by and make sure you were all right before I got caught up in the town's business." Unseen in the shadows, his hand touched her back as if to reassure himself.

"Matthew," Festus yelped, "Now ain't you a sight for eyes that are sore as bear grease."

"Sore as – sore as bear grease," Doc exclaimed. "What a thing to say. Bear grease is inanimate. Nothing sore about bear grease."

"Ya ol' scudder. Doncha see? You puts bear grease on some part of you that's hurtin' and it heals it up right quick. But till it heals, you're 'bout as sore as you can be in the parts that bear grease is on – doncha see?"

Matt leaned back, a half-smile on his face. "Sure is good to be home."

Kitty shifted a little closer to him. "I guess, since you're back so soon, that they hanged her."

"Nope. She got twenty years at Lawrence. They convicted her of manslaughter on the murder charge, she got ten for that, and ten for escaping. She'll serve 'em concurrently and be out in eight or nine years, if she behaves herself. Couldn't get them to give her anything extra for all she put you through."

"That's okay, Matt. Eight or nine years in prison – for a woman…" Kitty shuddered. A week had been more than enough for her.

"Liebling volunteered to take her to Lawrence and I didn't argue with him." He looked deep into her very blue eyes. "I had – people to get back to in Dodge." He hesitated. "That is – I do, don't I?"

She tilted her head, raised her eyebrows, and gave him a little grin. "Well, Doc and Festus and Quint seemed glad to see you."

"Kitty…" he began, but whatever he had been going to say was interrupted by shouts and shots from the poker table, which had suddenly been overturned. Immediately, the big lawman surged to his feet and strode toward the disturbance. "Hold it," he shouted, pulling out his Colt and firing it into the ceiling.

Kitty sighed, mentally adding up the cost of patching the roof – again.

**~~*~~*~~**

_**Much Later That Evening**_

Matt's boots crunching over a broken bottle in the alleyway made the only sound in the still night air. Above his head a lamp glowed with soft radiance, shedding a little light on the steps that rose to the second floor of the Long Branch. The big lawman climbed unhesitatingly up them – remembering the last time he'd made this journey. Then reluctance had dogged his footsteps, and slowed his climb. This time, even though he knew Kitty was going to ask him questions he still hadn't been able to answer, even to himself, his journey was quick, full of eagerness – the chance to see his lady at its end. He realized that even though he had not consciously known the difference between the two women, something within his soul had, and a little piece of the guilt he carried vanished. He might not be able to convince Kitty, but now he knew that even though he'd tried to act as if everything was the same, his heart had not been so cavalier.

He tapped gently on the door frame and then tried the knob, feeling relief as it slipped beneath his fingers. She hadn't locked him out. Once inside, he hung his hat on the accustomed peg, unbuckled his gunbelt and hung it below the hat. Finally he shucked his coat. "Kitty," he said softly, making out her figure on the settee in front of the fireplace.

"Evenin', Cowboy. Rounds took a long time," she said. "Or were you working up the courage to come up here?"

"Yes," he said simply, coming to her side. The firelight lit her face and he wondered how he could ever have mistaken another's for hers.

"You look cold, Matt. Come sit beside me. The fire will warm you up." He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and slipped an arm around her shoulders to snuggle her closer to him.

She turned her face into his neck. "Matt, I know you're worried I'm going to ask you questions that are – unpleasant." She kissed his jaw. "I know you thought she was me. We all like to think we're unique, but I know about family resemblances, Matt. My mother had three sisters – three aunts that I remember. They all looked enough alike to pass for one another and they loved to do that. Took turns getting paddled, took turns with their various beaux. I used to think I could tell 'em apart – at least that I could tell my mother – but Tante Caroline and Tante Marthe played a trick on me once – and, well, eventually I figured it out, but not right away – and I knew how much they looked alike." She kissed his jaw again and felt his hand tighten on her shoulder.

"You didn't even know there was a possibility that someone who looked like me might exist. I'll admit I would rather not have spent all that time in the Great Bend jail, but it could have been worse. Liebling was decent."

"And if I'd been too late and they'd hung you, Kitty, would that have been just something I should accept too?" His voice was rough with emotion. She bit her lip. So that was the problem.

"But you weren't. You never are, Matt Dillon. I knew you'd come – and if you hadn't – I'd have gone to that rope loving you, Matt."

"Kitty," he groaned, gathering her close and burying his mouth against hers. "I was so scared I'd be too late – so scared I'd find you dead – and it would all have been my fault…"

"No, Matt. Not your fault," she said firmly, adjusting her position so that she could wrap her arms around him. "Micheline Buisson's fault and Lem Prescott's fault and the jury's fault maybe, and Cage Prescott's fault, definitely, but not yours, Cowboy. Not yours."

Matt gathered her against him, turning his face into her neck. He began kissing his way along her throat, working up toward her jawline, until he reached her ear. There he interrupted his progress to nibble on her ear lobe and to whisper very softly, "I love you, Kitty. Always have and always will, and if anything had happened to you, I don't know what I would have done."

Kitty felt her breath catch as his deep voice rumbled in her ear, the sound reaching deep into her being, while his words went straight to her heart. She twisted her body in his arms until her lips met his. The kiss began chastely enough as she tried to convey her gratitude for his abiding love, but quickly soared into passion, hunger, and need. "Matt, oh, Matt, I love you more than I will ever be able to tell you," she murmured when they finally broke apart.

"Sure about that?" he asked mildly, fumbling inside his vest for a piece of paper he had tucked there in the left-hand pocket of his shirt. Opening it, he began to read to her, ignoring the near darkness of the room as the fire died out. It didn't matter. He had, long since, committed the words to memory. "_Dearest Matt… I am satisfied that no woman could wish for more happiness than I have known with you…. I know you won't let me down, because you never have."_ His voice grew softer. _"…I love you, Cowboy, now and forever…" _he finished in a choked whisper.

Kitty stared at him. "Wh-where did you get that letter? I – I never meant…"

"When I was in Ellsworth, there was a preacher. Reverend Golden. He was troubled that he hadn't given you back your letters when your hanging was halted. I said I'd see that you got them. And since one of them was addressed to me… well, I had a lot of spare time on my hands in Ellsworth and nothin' to read."

"Matt…"

He shook his head and kissed her again. "We can talk about it later. Much later. Right now I have other – plans. If you're interested, that is?"

"Other plans, hmm? Sounds mighty intriguing, Cowboy. Maybe you ought to give me a better idea of what you have in mind." He could hear the smile in her voice, and feel it when her lips met his.

_**~FIN~**_


End file.
